are the crows feet of a woman’s solemn knowledge
and frame her solemn eyes
they echo the ages of men
fill them at the peril of your breath
as a child expires and sways
the cot which does not sway with love nor melody nor milk
empty as her womb
knows death
a warm stranger within
a harbinger
a traitor
a powdermind
knows death
Flynnpoetry 