She sits atop the sunset,
She sits inside our veins,
She hangs high from the trees,
She shows the worst of pain
She warns us of danger,
And flickers in Hestia’s hearth,
She runs out from gashes,
With us from the start
She is there in everything,
In all but those blue blooded,
She’s written into fairytales,
About girls whose heads are hooded,
She’s found on fruit,
Sat high up in the leaves,
Apples, cherries, raspberries,
The juices well received
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Author:
Be (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 29th, 2025 11:11
- Comment from author about the poem: Hi, the whole point of this poem is to be able to tell the colour by the end, despite it not being mentioned. Thanks! - Be
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 13
Offline)
Comments2
Clever and the root of poetry. How to tell something without naming it. A lovely write
Thank you!
A cleverly crafted write, enjoyed the read
Glad you enjoyed!
You are very welcome
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