Born to Write
~ ~Faster Kitty faster,
run to your master,
nasty boys chopped off your tail!
~ ~Yet, who is to blame?
Who meows her disdain?
Who hisses and spits on each male?
~ ~Scurry through the vines,
the boys close behind,
meows echo your anguish and pain.
~ ~Faster Kitty faster,
run to your master,
to the hut at the end of the lane.
~ ~Arms raised high,
shouting down the sky,
Master summons a name.
~ ~Fearing the gnome,
the boys race home,
their guts twisting in dread.
~ ~At length, they sleep,
then, in shadow’s creep,
snatching each boy from their beds.
~~Never again are they seen,
Apart from Halloween,
where they wander the streets without heads.
Old School Italian
Born to Write
Capture today!
"We make bitter better."
Irish History, Culture, Heritage, Language, Mythology
spare the crazy vocabulary, speak from your heart
Poetry, Prose, Photography
by Lize Bard
Natalie. Writer. Photographer. Etc.
Exploring land recently released by ice (geologically speaking)