This Time
She did pass in the trees, tinkling a tickle-whisper,
And was in the flame, yes, when I've
pleaded and wished and prayed and
burned anyways.
But this time, no moaning:
just the urge, to deep and dark and drowning.
This time, my eye is to the well.
This Time by Lora Dziemiela is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
