Clot

There it was I thought
But then again maybe not
It is tangled in a knot
A wound without a clot

And yet bigger that it got
It smelled of death and rot
He said he knew but he forgot
And neither cared to clean the spot

And while the witch did stir the pot
Along she came a wretched trot
And with her pen she took a shot
And I seek naught the thing she brought

© Delia Ross. 2019

HE WANTS TO KNOW WHERE MY LOVE WENT *LAUGHS INSANELY*

There’s a hurricane headed to Florida and there’s a good chance I’ll lose Communications for a bit.

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