There is such despair in her,

So much darkness and sorrow.

She’s been thrown to the wolves,

Bleakness seems to hover over tomorrow.

If you have some joy in your pocket

Could it be hers to borrow?

It would light her up from her insides,

Her brow would no longer be furrowed.

The despair would trip and tumble downhill,

Having been shot by her smile’s arrow.

©Ivie M. Eke 2016


About Classically Ivy

I write poetry, short stories and essays on reading!
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