II - Oh, Amelyn

The imprudent, butterfingered, asinine      
wolf with more fur    
than sense to roll over and play dead    
when farmer was lurking.    
The wild dog lacked mastery required to hold discretion when    
he saw you. His tongue out, already panting.    
Your skeletal body exposed to world's Winter Sun,      
waxen hands sweeping wings apart in the fresh morn' air.    
Bearing only the bewitchment of a poor-man's, white dove.    
Wolf never needed to comprehend your feeble state of mind,    
blindness sometimes held the greatest sight. Lack of hindsight, lack of conscience.    
With a fearless eye glaring at the piece of wood shaking in his paw,    
you pondered if it struck your pretty head whether    
it could decide fate upon these chalk cliffs.    
Some wild folk,    
on the land,    
said our 'Don Juan' wolf    
was obsessed      
with the image of a celestial being, 'the Goddess in you'.  
In his own gruff words.    
Though poor wolf lacked the modesty while drooling in the corners of your eye line.    
Did he not know you were a cursed crow, forever betrothed to the curse of a toad?    
Strange, on trimmings of time    
beyond the Gothic tower built from      
your mind you saw the pyre, in his wandering eye.    
The pyre where you screamed and fancied your last.    
The timber dropped from his hands,      
final piece his Papa had provided.    
Your arms defied you    
and he curled you in,    
into the arms of the being    
you knew would cause your end.    
A wolf loving a crow    
somewhere this crow still craving one blue-suited toad.  
Luck has never been on fantasy's side.      
"Oh, Amelyn? Will you ever come back?"      
     
The hallucinations are speeding, like      
betrayal through wild dog.