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Sunday, January 5, 2014


She sits with me above . . .
terrible mistress, a huntress with a bow . . .
She sits on me now . . .
Waits to prey on me below.

When she is alone with me . . 
Though all my heart is love 
All I do is wait her out,
Until skies are clear above.

She sits heavy above my brow,
Says all my love is show
She calls down, a raven mocking,
A weasel snapping at a dove.

She sits with me now
Raining out my fears,
She strikes another hurtful blow
Calling names, calling jeers.

When she sits with me
All my life's a joke
And when I look back at her . .
I see the blackest smoke.

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