in the early morning chill,
in a hour engulfed in fog,
this beauty by me pass,
through the wetted path,
that lie a victim of an evening
pour,
these my brightened eyes she
barely can see,
her glance dissuaded by this tan
from birth endowed,
and so she walks through the
mud,
away into the sucking fog,
not once a glance behind thrown,
left in fantasy,
thoughts of that flowing natural
hairs,
that dances in the morning wind,
fading away..
©2011
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