Perchance is it you dream
Of the widow in the willows
Down by the tranquil stream
Raindrops fall contritely
On a soft summer breeze
As they both sway slightly
By drawn blades and desire
Did her two beloveds meet
Consumed by their own ire
And as both lay dying
By her own greed no less
She just kept on crying
Guilt ate at her inside
So, holding a rope, she walked
Down to where they had died
Now amongst the willows
Does her dead body still hang
Swaying in the shadows
YOU ARE READING
My Thoughts
PoetryHere lie the thoughts of me; in the form of poetry of course because I can't seem to complete a story. Oh well. So these poem will be about all kinds of stuff from horses to inner demons. Some of them are also very short. Enjoy P.S. some of these p...
