The Bride

She waits for her long lost groom. 

With so much hope in vain

A thousand Moody Suns she’d seen

But  adorns herself as a queen. 

Henna in her palms and Kohl in her eyes.

Forgotten it seems to adorn her  greying mane.

***************

In response to the daily prompt Moody

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11 thoughts on “The Bride

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