You use me too much.
Write me into something new,
do not leave me to dust and rot
as year after year another
girl longs to prick
her finger, or have seven shirts
to spin.
Put me in the knit of
your baby's blanket, the
wool scarf you hold onto when the
fairy queen rides by with your love again.
Do not leave me to dust, and rot,
do not leave me to ruin
their chances at falling in love
alone.
No comments:
Post a Comment