How Long She Will Be

May 11, 2009
By MoonLightBelladonna BRONZE, Llangefni, Other
MoonLightBelladonna BRONZE, Llangefni, Other
4 articles 0 photos 4 comments

Staggered, on the stony path,
did the frail old figure,

thrown by the wind; ragged, wiry grey
coils sprung from pinked scalp.
Eyes, milky, blue as violets,

scanned the crowd of gulls above
circling the shoreline, thrown by the gale.

A small, knobbled cane, she carried,

in one gnarled, rough hand
Twisted fingers curled around the honey
coloured wood; her breathing is laboured.

Behind her clatters a carpetbag, on
rusty, dirt-brown wheels,

bursting with nothing, for only a
crumpled note of five,

Lays tattered, forgotten, at its base.
Staggered on, through the force,
did the frail old figure; braving

spray, thunder, and almighty wind
To reach her destination.

Forth she ploughs, determined, her
mind as sane as you or me;
But no one knows where she is going,
or how long she
will be.


The author's comments:
Again, another piece I wrote off the top of my head. It's not really about any particular topic; interpret it however you like.

Similar Articles

JOIN THE DISCUSSION

This article has 0 comments.



SciArc

MacMillan Books

Aspiring Writer? Take Our Online Course!