The Harp Player

Silver slippers dangling
Pale stringed harp balanced on her knees
Silver notes become silver beams
Of a golden grinned grace.
The glowing skirt as she sways in place
Black hair spotted by silver specks flowing
She longs to dance
Her final chance
Before devoured by the night.
Tears scatter on the earth
Born as her last right.
Silver and golden worth
Death and life before new birth.

This poem is about: 
Our world


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