a frail old woman
is not wrapped in a warm coat
nor given love’s gold
inconsiderate
how you walk away again
stranger to her fold
she’ll not understand
the sudden hardheartedness
but the ravens scold
Poetry
a frail old woman
is not wrapped in a warm coat
nor given love’s gold
inconsiderate
how you walk away again
stranger to her fold
she’ll not understand
the sudden hardheartedness
but the ravens scold
Quite a departure for you. But biting.>KB
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Thank you, KB. I was witness to the event, angered and saddened
by human nature. But, the Fates have it now.
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The Fates alone always have it my friend.
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There are times they give fair warning, dear KB, but the deaf
they will pursue. Strange case, Sir; after posting this, stepped
out to view the sky, where four clouds, not contrails, formed
the word ‘Loom’, reconfiguring to ‘Loam’…and thought, yes,
he’s digging his own grave.
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Cold Apathy
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