Tuesday, 28 May 2019

They were wrapped like nuns
but too young for nuns,
or perhaps like babies
but too old for babies.
Shrouded in sepia
tinted sadness
they stood
for their picture
with the dog,
a black dog
a hang dog
the Black Dog
to engulf them all.

Brushstrokes For Alfredo Fuentes Pons The niños play in the dark, singing mañanitas or humming. The earth’s colours are young again in their faces. Because reality...

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