Memory of Grace

Something old...

Leap lightly on tip-toes

A swaying reminder of slippers

Ballet curves reflected in polished mirrors

One two three four...

One two...

Eighty four

Blushed cheeks now flushed

Pink tutus to dowdy rags

And T-shirts of old hags

Giggled in soda pop bubbles

Till drowned in the taciturn silence

Of friable 




Little bun head

Grey wistful skull

The End

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