Thin Dark Thread
John W Frye
The thin dark thread does not break-
The button holds, fragile against the wind.
The coat shields her baby from the cold
Piercing deadly as frigid gales blow.
The mother’s face burns red, her slit eyes wet;
Her hands tight, numb with cold;
Her feet take the long, dark, silent road.
The thread holds,
The button stays;
Her baby, oblivious, lives.
O warmth of the mother’s heart
In the journey called life.
painting: Jaro Polk Art “Lonely Road” (google images)