Thursday, January 15, 2009
The Mute
Clad in office-wear;
Prim blouse and proper skirt
Her high-heeled shoes echoed
A melody akin to dirt.
Two offsprings she had given;
The latter doted on more
She used to walk off without the former
Still tying his laces on the floor.
Bills and money;
Inferences had to be made
For between mother and child
Nothing was to be sad.
She never spoke a word;
Greeting nor well wishes, none
Yet he knew inside of him
The cold war had begun.
I'm convinced I'm taken from a rubbish chute. Results still not mentioned? haha try tomorrow.
