The
garden was ransacked
The
tree was cut down
Cut
down to size
To
see what was in it
They
couldn’t bear her to win
They’d
find fault with her somewhere
It
was said that she left them
In
no doubt as to her centring pivot
Who
and what it was
It
was all too easy to take her plain
And
to tear her musings to ribbons
To
decorate their hair
She
didn’t care – she was already dead.
*
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