It’s her first eye she wants to cleanse of stress.
Her all-seeing eye that knows of no duress.
She has three eyes one mouth; her two ears hone.
Sound and scent her twin-eyes see her first eye knows.
The power of each is slowed when weathered by life.
When effort turns to work then turns to strife.
In touch, her crown of senses– hear taste smell
Three eyes, her vision clearing– all would be well.
If not, the crown atop her head will slide.
Anoint her head with oil; her hair’s still white.
When she is stressed, she ‘s blind and can’t pretend.
She’s living in the past and “now” depends.
She may shut down, and needs her beauty rest.
Her first eye needs it first, to cleanse of stress.
Sonnet Saturday copyright (c) 2016 Niamo Nancy Muid
