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Anastasia
March 7, 2018
You roam the storm
For you it’s the norm
Radiate warmth
Dear angel
You leave no trace
Bruised on the face
There is no such thing
As a mother not baneful
Your beauty unfounded
A crowd astounded
Your speech echoes in halls
Once dominated by man
Idyllic lover
Use her hands for cover
There is softness in them
You do what you can
Magistrate unbound
Playing the sounds
Of a crowd unpleased
Their severe dysplasia
Separate from the masses
You were made from the grasses
Of the plains of Eden
Young Anastasia
© Greg K., New Lenox, IL
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