A broken heart; bleeding, cries,
fragile and wounded it surrenders to grief,
to a cold indifferent sunrise.
Standing on the river bank,
lazy water rolling, current following it’s course.
As I gazed, I drank.
Lovers on a Winters eve,
draw their bodies close to one another.
At that moment they conceive.
© 2015 Kathleen Stefani and Combing The Catacombs
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