Even as she stood against the wind
there was still not enough sky to hold her heart.
That cradling the warmth of her intimacy’s inspiration
she was torn between her hope and a heartache.
Thus the wind wove her hair with the gold in her heart
as a tear slipped silver down her cheek softly.
For would he ever remember her nnme
when all she wanted to be
- Was loved.
© Charles Coakley Simpson 2005
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