She says her name is Munday,

blushing on the edge of shy,

With her amber highlights flushed,

she nearly glows in the ambiance.

Gently she lays in my hands

As though she were made for them,

and maybe she is.

How she is loved,

Monday quivers,  breathlessly.

It sounds like scores of Seraphim

She quivers,

Just like a wounded bird when

I pluck at her heartstrings and

Listen to her sing so clear,

she sighs like the waves on the ocean and her voice,

I pluck her heartstrings again, and

together, how we tremble, anticipating.

Her voice is freedom’s ring.

The sweetest sound in the world and she sings for me.


Melanie Mccurdie (6)
Coming soon to eBook and paperback

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