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Seamstress in Mourning
June 16, 2014
Oil, satin an silk. Sown as flowers wilt. Seated quaint under faint moonlight. Neither afraid nor in delight. Spit for the waters that come. So why hath this plague been done. Oh,why hath the war taken my only son. God, please answer me,was it all for none. I pray to you everyday,an still you lead my child astray. I can't begin to be joyful an gay,for my child hath gone away.
© Kaitlin C., Forest Hills, NY
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