The Lady and Her Mandolin
The mandolin played softly from the room beneath my bed, the melody matched the moonlight dancing on the prisms hanging in my window, yellows, blues and reds. The lady plays over and over, thrumming aimlessly, as the night breeze takes the harmony over the cliff falling gently into the sea.
In her room decorated with blue butterflies cascading along tawny silk, lying upon sheets white as milk. her skin glistening, motionless, her eyes like a cobalt sky, she never leaves her room, I always wonder why.
When the crimson sky grows darker and there is nothing left but time, I go sit down beside her pouring Brandywine. Soon the stars will shatter, rockets will soar; I lay in a sea of saffron scent, my hunger spent, and then she will slowly begin her aimlessly thrumming once more.
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Last updated: June 03, 2017 The information contained on email@example.com website (the “BLOG”) is for blogging general information FACT AND/OR FICTION purposes only. ELIZABETH ANN JOHNSON MURPHREE.