The Creaking Swing
The moon hardly pierces the winter clouds.
Afar, a solitary wolf howls.
The girl sits on the Glum-Glade swing.
The pain of her claws growing
and the frost made her wince.
Still one rocking and
she will become
the raven
ready
to
fly
and spread
the seeds of
malediction.
Cursed are those who have
discovered her secret.
It is dangerous to spy
on a sorceress in the woods.
Afar, a solitary wolf dies.
And the moon weeps behind the frigid fog.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
