Concrete Angel The sun rises, the sun sets. She watches, still, unchanging, unending. Her static eyes watch stoically as people come and go. Some pause, sit at her feet, and weep. Sulfuric rain has eroded her wings, dulled the hands that hold a rigid rose. Mold grows in her crevices. She stands patiently as the sun beats down and birds come to sit on her head; a silent sentinel for the bones beneath her as they turn to dust. ~Wanda Stricklin Robertson
Bloggy Randomness. All text and images copyright of wandastricklinrobertson.