Intent on legacy-lasting for all of an outright mysterious lifelong instance
To settle these old bruised and beautifully aligned bones – no less equated to this scintillating storyline of Hers imbedded within for equal stature alone
She soothes these pages five decades bygone by striking ten hundred ink-oiled pens right against the wink-ridden underbelly interior
Of utter concentrated design to suppose a thing or two fair politically based – mixed black and white, non-tapestried anything, black on white, Mississippi calling almost yet never quite Alright again
She strips this friendly smoke from a stretched lip, albeit ’tis only ever these dogs who see her speak to anyone but her
Rain-peppered windows, focal upon one paralleled soul within – she appears to be old school wide screen amounted to everything
By experiencing next to gargantuan nothing
— Then There Just has to be The Reason For Her Being —
Altogether welcomingly drenched in violenced silence to send a whole maddening world extra literary insane – they beg and plead, seek her twisted feet: Why, oh why can you not simply retrieve/retrace yourself/your steps to deliver the anecdotal answer for your natural born ability!?
We Will read and listen ‘Til Mockingbird Red In The Face all Over Again
God bless you, our dearest Harper, whilst your pen drops to cracking to spectacularly unmatched approval one final and melancholic time – finds its permitted place as well as forever yours to me mine
