August 26, 2015

Wednesday Wisdom No. 20


My father's mother
Picked up the shell
And turned it about
In her hand that was
Crinkled, glossy and
Twined with veins,
The fingers rumpled
Into soft roses
At the knuckles, and
She said, "Why did
That little creature
Take so much trouble
To be beautiful?"

~ Valerie Worth, All the Small Poems and Fourteen More

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