But a means of flight.

I have no teeth and combless I remain
My hair once silk is now a  tangled briar.
Men gaze on me with ruthless cold disdain
My visage will no longer spark their fire.

I have no mind and so I cannot think
I cannot love nor hate now as I  feel so tired
Yet runs my nose and do my eyes not blink?
Where is that man with care and inner fires?

I have no heart , or it turns cold and hard.
Yet soul I have and spirit and my sight.
At life’s long game I fling down all my cards.
And ask for nothing but a means of flight.

For beauty withers as my wisdom grows.
And none observe the circling of the crows.


About Kate Thwaite

I love writing , conversation, art, wild flowers, music and air.And books
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