Moldy Feet
Moldy feet of clay
Wearing smelly moldy feet of clay,
as purity walks slow away,
the attraction of the pity curse,
a lady solves the verse,
but is she here to play?
Unsent bewitched beguiled I say,
a bird transfixed by serpent gaze,
struggles weakly in the haze,
something in her mind has clicked.
Heart beats fast restricts,
does logic have its say?
A bird in fight she comes about,
in thought the treasures of the doubt,
to test the water hey,
flushed of face she closer comes,
lost in the eyes, is he the one?
Muttering its ok,
surrender rights are done...
Don Johnson
Copyright © Don Johnson | Year Posted 2015
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