Cold, When The Wind Blows

I formally knew a soul
Who was cheated of her zeal

Her regard for the world was sweet
A Wo. Man of very few words

But when she speaks
She releases her words

As if they’re enslaved
For a thousand going on one

In sight she was nothing generous to look for
But her superficies meant nothing when she spoke

Not one got her words
Although never involved

But always attractive
Except her epigrams were vain

Not one took an ear
To what was Wo. Man breathed
The world had needless eminty towards she
One day they have sight.

by Danielle Brandon

Other poems of BRANDON (2)

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