To weave a story that only time will tell, Chapters, and pages coins in a wishing well. Fairy’s and dragons, monsters and trolls, Ageless hag’s potions that steal your soul.
What with a self- portrait I took, Should my eyes grant me one last look. Spinning round and round my image to change, Hoping for the strength and spirit to rearrange.
Emotions will not cure for there is none to take, Spreading like a whirlwind a thirst to slake. Only a valley of sorrow chasing forever dreams, Worrying of a tomorrow that the day birds never sing.
© Cynthia Clark