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Teardrop ©

by Deborah Lloyd
Fife, Scotland
2002

A single salty teardrop.
A fragment of life.
Tiptoes down a cheek
Soft.
Soft and refined
Like some divine peach unknown.
Unknown
To all those who fail to see
See
Beyond the blinkers of their prejudice.
Beyond
The conditioning of their youth
Beyond
Their ignorance of all that they do not understand.
For this peach
So soft
Is not a peach of pastel shades.
Not of pinks and oranges,
But a peach of richest chocolate,
As brown as the earth upon which they stand.
This they cannot comprehend;
Comprehend nor tolerate.
And henceforth,
A salty tear is born.


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