deepundergroundpoetry.com
Old Crone, at a Stove
My bread is leavened with magic.
My heart is baked into the bread.
I’m neither fatal nor tragic,
but when you eat my bread magic
drips down in rivulets, bloody and thick.
My spell is not male, but it is red.
My bread is leavened with magic.
My heart is baked into the bread.
My heart is baked into the bread.
I’m neither fatal nor tragic,
but when you eat my bread magic
drips down in rivulets, bloody and thick.
My spell is not male, but it is red.
My bread is leavened with magic.
My heart is baked into the bread.
Published 31st Dec 2020
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31st Dec 2020 00:30am
31st Dec 2020 6:12am
31st Dec 2020 2:48am
31st Dec 2020 6:14am
2nd Jan 2021 10:05pm
I thought this was a riddle when you first sent it to me. A poem often is, however. Recently I wrote that I hope you have a Babylonian fish in your ear, a reference to Douglas Adams Hitchhiker's Guide, the fish that translated all languages. I think we all ultimately want to connect and be understood. 💖🙏
2nd Jan 2021 10:39pm
Anonymous
- Edited 17th Apr 2021 8:45pm
10th Jan 2021 5:16pm
<< post removed >>
10th Jan 2021 5:22pm
Thank you for your kind comment and it’s lovely to meet you, Mr Castro. x
