The Topiary
By Thursdaybloom on December 16, 2012 11:44 pm
Pawprints in the snow
Lined and laced with blood
Lead me long and winding
To a topiary garden
A blackened rose turned white
From Chione's soft, speckled touch
Picked and placed atop
A golden, gilded box
Ghost children laugh and dance around the maypole
But you sit clutched, wet and sobbing
I am running around this topiary
Looking for keys to the locked book from the apothecary
Which holds secrets to opening the gilded box that holds your heart
Audio works licensed by author under:
CC Attribution Noncommercial No Derivative Works (BY-NC-ND)
