CINQUINS

Lilting
music, soft, low,
healing a broken heart
with a melody so sweetly
singing.


Lonely
lost, not worthy,
excommunicated,
No longer in the happy throng,
alone.


Frozen
through to the bone,
a lulling sense of warmth
as my body slowly succumbs
to death.

M Ann Margetson © May 11, 2001

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