Just Seventeen (Petrachan sonnet)
Just seventeen she closed her heart to all,
Refusing ever ‘gain to feel the pain
She closed her soul to love — It was the strain
That made it right that she should take the fall.
He was short— handsome—ugly—fat—thin—tall,
He was black— white –MALE: cause of her disdain.
She was his toy, used time and time for gain –
His! Muffled none attended to her call…
Her makeup hid mascara tinted tears
And penciled smiles were drawn anew each day
Which gave illusion of contentment stored,
But look upon her well and see the years
In cracks defining broken vase of clay;
The net allows her to remain ignored.
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