such a strange thing to see
on a serene night as this
a little man with a blue cap
conjuring a brand new wish
the fire crackles beneath
the black vessel with life
spiraling towards the sky
smoke makes the night seem white
he steps to pick some herb
from his worn leather sack
breaking some apart
he makes up what was lack
a green flame rises
and a cold air blows by
the man's hair stands
and his eyes grow wide
crooked stance with a crooked smile
the old man stirs the crooked stick
a crooked intent breathes the air
a crooked potion bathes the wick
a brief turn to the moon
and the potion seems to move
quickly looking back
nothing without proof
a glare into the pot
breathes a distrust of right
but he knows that he creates
and puts forth his life
crooked stance with a crooked smile
the old man stirs the crooked stick
a crooked intent breathes the air
a crooked potion bathes the wick
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment