Connecting Bridges

Connecting  Bridges

The Old Maid

Old maid Rocks in a chair.
Stares over a forest a glare,
“Succulent yellows and orange”, I see.
Floating down from such high trees.
On the ground they lay,
Where they’ll eternally stay.
Trees once colored with rainbows,
Stand bare, surrounded by colored ground.
Old maid in a chair.

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