If you should pull my braid, I'll cry.
As often as I'm paid, men die.
And when you're most afraid, I fly
Defying all you prayed on high.
What hurts you hits me, too. (Big sigh.)
I'm tracking them for you. I'll pry.
But someday you'll see through the lie...
I'm not your friend. But who am I?
YOU ARE READING
Wandering Wonderward: More Poetry from the End of the World
PoesiaA collection of poetry inspired by the Great Pandemic.
