Fair
I comb my hair in the chilly air,
and I curse the moon,
and I curse them skies
that t'is not fair
That our paths do not meet
that I was left astray,
That thy love for I
turned cold with the days.
I tie my hair in the chilly air,
and I curse the sun,
and I curse them skies
that t'is not fair
That thee walked away,
that I was left with no word,
That thy love for I
flew away with the birds.
Date: 01.12.2019
For Contest: "Your Best New Poem",
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
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