The core of a fling
I flung my ears to overhear
The grievance in her voice
I threw my eyes to catch insight
Innermostly in her tortured soul
To unearth the skeleton of that sphinx
Who ungroundly was born
“The scarlet letter” by Nathaniel Hawthorn
To the ominous fellow
It’s illicit to be closed !
Into pieces should be torn
Feels like
In her threat a sharp thorn
Prevents the air to enter
What if she goes to a priest ‼
Conveys the secret
Appeals the letters of indulgence
For forgiveness of a sin
Was not hers‼
Dreamt of being member
Of happy beehive
Unnoticed come, soon gone
As sweaty fragrance
Of carnation smelt at glance
Live alone, die alone
Oh! What he has done
To depart in such gone‼!