She evens the score:
a spoonful of applesauce meant for the mouth
hits the floor.
She's famous for a lack of aplomb,
applesauce -- a time bomb.
She gives you the dropsies,
objects that fly, no reason why.
Scary thoughts that come unbidden,
hers alone. I will not own.
Crossing Nora? Don't try it.
You'll live to decry it.
She's whatever haunts you,
seems to want you, but
send white light.
She fades from sight.
Categories:
dropsies, allegory,
Form: Rhyme