huddled in her flimsy coat,
her face stained by tears
and smeared with lipstick.
She breathes on her thin little fingers.
Fingers like ice. Glass beads in her ears.
She has to beat her way back alone
down the icy street.
First frost. A beginning of losses,
the first frost of telephone phrases.
It is the start of winter glittering on her cheek,
the first frost of having been hurt.
This poem means to me a lot, because refers to people who have plenty things in mind to do, but suddenly all this can't come true for some reasons like illness, disappoinmet, death , family, love relationships and more...However, there is always new changes to improve our way, and get a better road to take , instead of suffer all the time, in spite of problems, there is a spot light at the end of the hallway, in order to jump out those things that can break us down.
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