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Come to Me, My Love

by Iftikhar Ifti on September 12, 2011

She moves alone in the dark of the night
The full moon casts its radiant glow
Her white gown flows in the gentle breeze,
Not a single footprint mars the glistening snow

Red tears seeping from absent eyes
From pitch black socket holes
Two small black spiders creeping from between pale gray lips
Ivory colored skin winter cold

An extended hand held out blindly before her
As she weaves swiftly, as gracefully as a ghost
Through this dark yet moonlit forest of deadened trees

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