In this deprived shop,
Where hundreds of gowns are crops,
This little dress,
Thatched and weary,
Watches for a mercy,
Two then cherry,
Eons and eons down the road,
Her withering gaze drives them cold,
Sucked up to the reject bellow,
Girded in the doomed halo,
A little title mars her grand hole,
Useless till the ending mellow,
Shopkeeper leaves and brings more crops,
Then she's no more than a pesky drop.
I thank God for giving me the Grace to write this.
How was the poem though?
YOU ARE READING
MY POEM COLLECTION
PoetryPoetry allows you to discover, And gives you the gift to recover, Giving you the wheel and compass, To venture through the bypass
