by Jennifer L Banks
I bleed, though you cannot see
red haired maiden of Celtic blood
Create small puddles pooled,
on the brick steps under a winter sun,
Wash away with the rain in the spring.
Nail polish sings a tempests tune
For the phone to ring
Cannot hear a word you say
Downward into the dark chasm
I know the banshee howls
For its long lost love.
Posted on 04/19/2003
Copyright © 2020 Jennifer L Banks