The Painting

photo not mine
photo not mine

A drop of water dripped through the roof,
And landed on her eyes below;
On the eyes of a woman-a beautiful, young woman,
Who had been crying since ages ago.
But no one could feel her, caress her, or heal her,
Or cry with her in her pain:
Because her eyes were just oil, dipped in white canvas
And she was just a painting, and it was beginning to rain.

This poem’s not mine but I think it’s beautiful. It was written by someone I’ve talked to (online) before.

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