Winding vines hold my hands sometimes
Whispering secrets I didn't ask for.
The current of the city's mellow news is more dreadful than any shadow in the woods
They make my ears sore.
I do not relish my cottage cage.
But I do not miss the bustling noise.
I couldn't care less who Marie Henry kissed.
Or whose father has three more ships docked at port.
I listen and nod.
I sip my tea.
As my mother and whatever still willing 'proper lady' is visiting me.
I swirl and Bob my tarragon with a spoon.
I check the clock.
Uhhhhh.
It's still only half past noon.
I glance out the window.
For the fourteenth time today.
.
.
.
Oh.
In the shadows this time...
Is that a slender man's shape?
I pop my eyes.
I dare not blink.
He is shadow but he's there.
...At least I think?
I know not what possesses me
but I dare a small wave.
I hold my breathe and behold
The shadow echoes the same.
YOU ARE READING
Dainty Miss T.
PoetryDainty Miss T's parents have kept her isolated ever since her sister died. Confined to a cottage at the edge of town, she has nothing exciting to occupy her time and no one to keep her company... Or does she?
