Let Sleeping Dolls Lie.

Let Sleeping Dolls Lie.

 

 

 

She died over

one hundred

and twenty

years ago,

at the tender

age of seventeen,

of spinal fever,

but her gravestone

called to me,

one day while

visiting another,


And I wondered

what she looked like,

this Victorian princess,

in a long, lacey,

burial  dress

with a collar

buttoned up

all the way to

the nape of her neck,

plus all those slips

to get through,


if one were of

a mind to bring her

some less than

Victorian pursuits.


Sanity precludes me

from digging up

any information on her,


at best I would find

a skull with

perhaps some

woven hair left,

and just bony

flanges for fingers

coming out of her

long sleeved prison,


but I could see the

fashion she loved,

and perhaps they

put a picture

of her in the coffin,

It was a custom then.


Alas I am a

romanticist,

not a criminal

grave robber,


I am a poet who

weeps for what

she never knew,


perhaps I only

wish to give her

a long delayed hug,

for she was contagious

and most likely

died in isolation

from all whom she loved,


what remains 

are now simply remains

all that's left of her

brief sojuorn

on this planet


so I blow her a kiss,

and leave my

curiousity buried

in the darker side

of my soul.

 


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~MFB III

 

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pbwriterchick 6 years ago

yeah... probably better off not digging up any graves... :D

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