Sunday, April 07, 2013

No. 7 (NaPoWriMo)

By Hannah Six

Around me, and for miles, trees,
Clutching, dark and prickly
Pressing in on every side, standing so
Close at every turn
I haven't seen a sunset
Burn the western sky for years.
Meanwhile, the rain, the clouds,
Pressing down upon my head,
A dreary crown, declaring me
A woman far from home;
A crown I wear haphazardly,
Askew, it still announces me:
This woman, here, so far from home,
This woman is standing,
Fenced in by miles of black-green trees
And ten-thousand foot high
walls of stone.


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