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The Witches Sons

A macabre reinterpretation of a previous poem posted

Walk best you can; slow and painful.
Maybe not at all.
Grip your broomstick lest you fall.
Gleam centred in your eye.
Vision of savorous flesh heavy pie,
Borne to table, divided among us.
Though we too grow old,
You see us ever reborn
beneath your incantations
in a house deserted long ago.

3 Dec 06

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It would have been nice to read L8 & 9 as a rhymed pair, this would be in keeping with S1 where the first and last lines don't rhyme, but the others do.

Also it feels incomplete, treat us to a little more!
 — hobby

Dear Hobby

Thanks for taking the time and trouble but i hand out my treats sparingly in case i get my hand bitten off.

Larry fingers and thumbs Lark
 — larrylark