July 27, 2016 by Rosemerry
when she knows she will die—
she sits beside the river
and puts down the book
and lets the sun
scrawl its hot verses
on every page
of her body.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged death, living, poem, poetry, sun | 3 Comments
Lovely and sad!
thank you for your comments … yes, lovely and sad
I like how the title merges into the poem, and those last lines, the “hot verses”
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