Ice Queen

These simple words which stays the harsh whip’s lash
And bold-faced arrangement which eschews artifice
Are the bare cupboards of a kitchen
Removed of bon-bons and honeyed treats.
These worn walls are my heart
This scrape, a knife-wound from a careless vagrant.
No longer do I spread a sumptuous feast;
I offer nothing but shelter and a worn chair:
A kindness, if only you chose to see it.

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Author: redgladiola

Creative writer happily predisposed to flights of fancy. You can find my poetry and short prose at https://redgladiola.wordpress.com

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