Oft times we are too close to see
The making or changing of history.
The forest is made up of too many trees
Blocking the view of anything new.
The implications and variations,
Said to be pure as the driven snow,
Are often disguised from enquiring eyes
And hidden in layers and layers of lies.
©DGA 23 December 2011 14:32
About adeeyoyoI am a middle-aged South African woman, living in Johannesburg. I began writing poetry towards the end of May 2010. I love animals – sometimes more than people!
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License.
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