She is his voodoo
He, her taboo
Casted runes
Ruining the two
Her polished hand
His potion held
Under the moon
As moonlight swelled
Her sign, of sun
That Leo mane
Could not, the crab,
Coax to remain
As high as heaven
From which she fell
What now the cards
Tarot, and tell
He hides away
In hills and trees
She clears her land
Her head, and leans
Against the memory
Her heart, knows well
She knows the tarot
And knows his tell....
Ah, the turning of cards by the mind's-eye of the Seer! Susan, I like this...most creative storyline, and as per your usual...finely structured from onset to close-out! ~FjR~
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
pages of memories are still green - nice to read