Blogging Poetry

The Gold Lady Sings

Head, bosom laid.

Of whispered things,

From deepest dreams,

The Gold Lady sings

To soothe our stings.

Head, bosom laid,

Our debts unpaid,

We cry, afraid,

Of what we’ve made.

From deep within,

That raging din,

Calmed, Gold Lady

Sings truth again.

© CGT, 2017.

About Obol

Obol is a poet and an infrequent writer of prose.

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