The Poet Lorikeet (Part 1)
SMP Donovan
My eyes are parched
like sand blown rocks.
Chapped lips, arid nostrils,
a tiredness hangs
heavy on my face.
The sun strikes
warm against the ground.
And yet, here and there, shadows
spread a dark chill
hiding nefariously the
secrets half untold.
A voice tries to speak.
Clouds appear, a leaden grey
to mock the winter blue.
Silence.
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