It was a sacrifice of youth
for youth . . .
that etched the creases
line by line –
her hair like silver frosted whispers
on the bitter biting wind
of age –
tumble and tangle, lying limp
as weary ringlets dancing
on alabaster cheeks
while white hot tears escape their prison,
tracing threads of hope
in rivers winding down
the fragile, ancient map of
her life.
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