On The Rocking Chair

Summer is unending, one after the other
Sun rays swept past the murky windows,
Hit her delicate skin -even, spotless as snow.
The wooded plank floor squeaked
Rhythmic with the falldown of her doll’s blonde hair.
Cobwebs spun by spiders now dead
Already reached the red bow on her hair.

Outside were meadows and rainbows as bridges–
Those she struggled to see, through her window,
On her rocking chair.

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