Mary’s wearing a weary smile:
her hair's a stack
of black with flecks
of wedding white;
her lips as dry
as brittle leaves
- or so they say.
Sunday she kneels,
offers a prayer, unwraps
her secret pride,
bestows a lover's kiss
upon his crucified side.
I look away,
hear the slap of sea,
the prayer inside. |
Free Forum Hosting
Important Announcement
0 recommendations 
First 
... Don
Return to Pip's Poetry