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surrounded by the late day orange haze
lost in the onrush
of a quickly growing evening,
your green eyes are losing their sparkle.
aimlessly walking through dismal alleyways,
your thoughts are becoming undone
like your ebony hair.
standing on the desolate pitch-tarred roof
among the cold metal telly aerials,
your small sensuous body outlines itself
against the last rays of a cruel sun.
(Her black-on-orange silhouette sighs -
she knows she is older now
and will not turn away
from the colours of the sky.)
on the Georgian tenement rooftop,
waiting patiently up there
for another tomorrow,
you will not return to your house this evening.
- James D. Young
Copyright © 1967 Sequoya
Copyright renewed 1995 Sequoya