Black and white stripes gliding down
a dress worn by
a blue devil,
a mother chasing madly after
a crying boy.

Ducking gray cottonwood brances,
stabbed by thorns of misquite trees
to hear her cry,

"Child!
Something is wrong."
He will always be her baby.

So Mac makes haste as
his whisper is lost,
"Your knuckles were red around
my arm.
Sufficating in your love."

hey. i really like how many times while writing you address someone specifically. i think that adds alot to the poem and
the way it is put forth.
[QUOTE]Ducking gray cottonwood brances,
stabbed by thorns of misquite trees

this gives quite a vivid picture. the wording is very good also.
salutes