She was Annabelle,
Her hair uncombed,
And dress torn,
Her nose whipped,
With an unopened gift...
She was Annabelle,
Standing under the tree,
Staring at the comb of a bee...
Saw an old woman,
Peeping through the broken window,
Whispered like an old doe....
Frosty winds pireced Annabelle's heart,
Hid behind the wheel of the wodden cart....
Slowly opened the unopened gift...
Now,
Annabelle heard the Christmas cradles,
And lighten up the holy candles...
Annabelle
@ Ami J
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem