Above the rim two eyes appear
Half moons, they peer below
The well has nothing to reveal
The waste, nothing to show
Her middle finger down she dips
In the chalice, old and chipped.
On her cheeks, the muck she smears
Then sighs, then yawns, then - tears.
Stripes of woe
Stripes of war
The world is hers
Kweeped from www.kweeper.com