Spectrum
In poetry I am able
To cryptically reveal the splendor
That hides beneath my secular skin
At first gaze I seem a plain person
With no higher ambition
Than to harvest what meager fruits I can
When I'm old and my back is bent
From toiling at physically difficult jobs
And the death rattle takes my last breath
When what little family I have is gathering
And the breeze builds and blows away
The scattered ashes of my body
These words will remain
For those who like puzzles
To try and decipher
The truth about a plain person
Who was more than she appeared to be
~Cie~
