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Young Women
December 25, 2013
We giggle as each day swings by,
Hair adorned with the jewel of time
Quickly rusting.
Mothers tell us we are too young
For power cakes and glossy syrup.
We gorge ourselves anyway.
Rising suns mean nothing to us:
We expect them above young waters
And scattered gold.
So under the cheap moonlight
We bulge with an ignorant sort of beauty,
Overfed with cloying dreams.
© Angela F., Bonham, TX
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