The witch roams the indigo sky.
His black feathers gleaming in the moonlight.
Soaring high and low.
Circling a particular spot.
Young Mary resting peacefully,
in her coffin that is.
Solid and Alive no more.
Dead all for her love.
Another great, black bird rested on the tombstone.
Could it be?
The beautiful Mary,
with a bell around her neck
She flew high and vanished.
The mournful tone of the bell did stay.
YOU ARE READING
Over Think
PoetryWell this is just a collection of things that go on inside my head. So I'd like to share them with all of you.
