The carded fleece of winter
Hides a land drawn down to bones.
An aching jaggedness of life,
Where a sharpened spinning wheel waits.
Beyond the bones, beyond the stones,
A box without a lock resides.
Pandora's box where hunger rises,
Thirst and sickness, war and grief,
And trapped beyond reach,
Lost in some forgotten corner,
Hope.
Thursday, 23 April 2015
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