tiny claws on the clouds foretell
Spring shadows murky within the mist
her hunger burnt unsated until the hidden tryst
she lay sinister lustful beneath the blooms spell
shocked eyes torn across the words compel
me now, wishing never to see that list.
I pray to unlearn of her walk in the meadow
Peaceful vapours turn late light to damp evil
Can I feed on Summers crumbs and exist?
Summers pleasures where we kissed
embrace deeply before she can scream and yell
winter welcomes Summers blood bright across the snow.
Once again delving into poetry where things for me are not comfortable. I realise the absolute importance of choosing the right words within the right space.
A Rondeau is a short poem consisting of fifteen lines that have two rhymes throughout - as far as my research told me - something similar to a shakespearean sonnet.