July 6, 2016
She would still turn heads
Fron the filling stations
To the four star destinations.
She ought to bottle that laugh,
To drink, in dryer times.
I think the sky, some, scolds us
With dryer, dryer times.
Her history’s no mystery.
She was born on a border town.
She’s heavensent with resilient,
But cursed some times too down.
Her calling is she feels all too much,
Her failing feeling touched.. not much of me.
Most time, though far, there’s no one nearer.
The rest time, too far,
too far to hear her.
(from 2010, & still)