Literature
A Teardrop in an Eternal Glass of Wine
And to sit here alone
In a garden of sadness and woe
Letting a tear drop slide
Into this eternal glass of wine
Sitting as a ghost in the pale gray light
Dulled blue eyes, hair as the night
Flowing down in shiny, plastic curls
A porcelain beauty, skin like a pearl
Forever to sit in this white, woven chair
In a soft, blue dress, matching bow in hair
Hands folded on lap, placed in lacy white gloves
Feet in little black shoes, cared for with love
And yet condemned to sit in wait
To ponder, contemplate, and accept her fate
To wonder if she were ever real
To remember what it was like to feel
To stare into this glass of sweet golden liquid
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