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i’m also a poet
The wind, it sang of broken hearts, Of severed ties and fractured parts. Her gown was stitched with threads of red, A tapestry of tears she’d shed.
The forest wept with every twirl, As blood adorned her ivory curls. The roots, they crept to hold her still, Yet on she spun, against their will.
Her lips, a song of whispered woe, Called forth the crows, a solemn show. They circled high, a mourning choir, Their wings ablaze with funeral fire.
At last, she fell, her heart undone, A life extinguished, thread unspun. The earth embraced her, cold and deep, And lulled her soul to restless sleep.
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