Milk Maid
I used to fantasize
About being merry,
with my own private
Tree I grew
in my own excitement.
Tradition was indeed
a culture onto its own.
But now I run so fast,
Away from the light
and we've become
Robots and so unkind.
Numb, and like a
mannequin you place
Yourself in a coven
with no protection.
I curse this
likeness because
Suffering is
So damn tiresome.
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