Saturday, April 19, 2025

Cecelia

 

Curled in the corner, where shadow leans soft,
Ears like wings, twitching at dreams
Cast from some unspoken meadow — she wanders,
Each breath a little prayer the body makes
Lest the soul drift too far from the hearth.
I have watched her study rain as if it were a message.
All I know of grace, I’ve learned from her gaze.

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