Little nothings By aldo kraas, www.PoetryPoem.com/poet11586 Unlock all Features - Upgrade to Poetry Prime
it was morning, free of sun and snow,
dark and whiskey wild.
she wrapped her warmly, held her close,
as she fed the child...
her eyes were watercolor red, with hues
of gray and gold,
her fingers weathered, lined with dust,
a deathless empty cold.
the child moved, and moved again,
opened up its empty eye
and whithered back into the dark
where all the little nothings die.
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