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Friday, 13 January 2017

Not Yet

Dry brittle twigs
resting folded, empty
in her lap.
Time has worn them thin,
fragile.
The winds of change,
of life,
have blasted the frail shell
to the point of collapse.
Yet,
in the eye there shines a spark
a gleam of laughter,
of defiance.
Time has not won...
not yet.

5 comments:

  1. Oh my, Delores, how you have captured the fragility of the aged - and their great spirit! I used to see this at my dad's nursing home ... love it.

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  2. This is truly lovely. And something I hope to replicate.

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  3. Time is going to have to take me kicking and screaming. No matter how fragile I may get, I won't be ready to go when time says so. Thankfully, I'm still quite sturdy.

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  4. Really enjoyed your poem, especially those last words.
    'Time has not won...
    not yet.'

    All the best Jan

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