I hide her
little comb
in a brown paper.
I see colourful
wraps getting
imported
in our country.
Poor my girl,
she finds comfort
in my darkened hands
cover with coal dust.
24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
I hide her
little comb
in a brown paper.
I see colourful
wraps getting
imported
in our country.
Poor my girl,
she finds comfort
in my darkened hands
cover with coal dust.