A cigarette lay burning

In a tin lid where she lay,

The smoke appeared to dance

As it met the morning rays.

A dirty coffee cup was silent

For there was no steam to rise,

It had sat there waiting patiently

since before the sun arrived.

One hand beneath a makeshift pillow

The other upon her face,

She lay there ever still

In this lost forgotten place.

The blanket she had swaddled in

Was dirty worn and old,

I say a prayer, and close her eyes

She is free now from the cold.

-Antony King

417scO2WnoL__SY300_

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s