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Oh, Amelyn - IV

The winter scattered, through earthy breeze and damp smell,
heavenly white powder upon my shadow-stained wings.
For a single instance this disturbed crow,
With a voice like floorboards crackling
As children run
From  combustion,
Was willowy, waxen, the dulcet dove.
Strange how the toad laughed at me then,
As he perched and scolded his bottom by hoarfrost upon our lake.
Yet still the frog pirouetted, in his blue suit, dizzily.
My beak ached to expel me from my frog prince fantasy
I wouldn’t, couldn’t, should not miss his absence again.
A toad would never submit to a crow, for he too proud
And she too simple.
We used to say that love would be the hook, line, sinker,
The boat we drowned in
I always seemed to forget that frogs can swim.
Almost.
‘Amelyn, I’d like you to come home now. Danielle is here to see you. Wake up. Please. Wake up.’
Written by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
Published
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