Her hands make life
Out of dead clay,
And she doesn’t realize
The massive magic contained
Inside her fragile frame.
How could such a small girl dare
To fight against entropy and death?
Each of her children takes
The shreds of her loving soul,
And carry deep in their cores
A piece of her infectious joy
Into the future with them.
They void never had a chance
She was already eternal.
YOU ARE READING
Shortys2024 Challenge
PoetryA collection of poems for the Shortys Challenge 2024. Starting September 1st , I'll be posting a short poem a day and submitting it to the challenge. Join me in this personal quest, and let's find out if I can complete the goal of writing 30 poems i...
