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The broken strings
She wore the beauty formed within her shell
The unique embellishments from a greater being
That adorned her apron strings
Where stains of toil did not impair,
the flawlessness that clung upon worn out strings
An iridescent glow shone around her,
when suaveness draped her neck, her lure became sunrise
Holding each one tight between calloused hands,
careful not to break the clasp
Her cup overflowed
She worshipped and kissed each one in turn,
Each one irreplaceable - her inheritance
Then they came
Pulling and dragging at the strings
The heavy sound of cartwheels
In the distance, small hands reached out in a blanket of dust
Transported to the vaults of another domain
Not hers to keep
The veils of the sun emptied their bursting seams,
drowning the strings that once held the stolen pearls
Copyright ©
W J Clarke
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