The Maid and the Fallen One

She finds him broken by the stable door
She hides him in the aminal feed
It would not do for them to take him away

The noon meal sreved to the nons
She slides out of the house
And soft as shadows she creeps into the barn

A fortress of pain, he is balled up
All that ecto-plasmic suffering ozzing into the dirt
She can’t even taste his name through the aura

Published by

Chyfrin the Celtic poet

Artist, Poet, Electrical/Biomedical Engineer, Actor, Playwright, Set construction, Educator, Lover of womankind and single malt scotch

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