Pure Woman

Sometimes when I pass the dressing shop
in between the barber's and butcher's junk
a bride in a show case lean and beautiful
smiles at all and never cries
never speaks and sleeps.
A bouquet in her hand
the flowers that never withers
and a clear white lace she wears
that will never fade.

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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