Skip to main content
Author
Of course it's rather heavy, dear —
This something that you thought to wear
Like a red flower pinned in your hair.
Less like illusion and more like fear
It weighs upon you now, poor dear.

You thought that this was something you
Could wear until the dimmest days.
Now in your pretty hair it weighs
As a flower was never meant to do.
Of course it's heavy, poor dear you.
Rate this poem
No votes yet
Reviews
No reviews yet.