Poetry (21)

Hello Escritori,

Here’s a bit of sheer silliness, essaying Blake’s The Poison Tree a little.


Fortune Tree

I passed right by

A fortune tree

Bedecked by all its golden leaves.

It glimmered most obligingly

And offered future fantasies.


Every leaf was as a peck

Of gold, blowing in the wind.

Woe has come to all

I’m sure, who have stolen

From it and sinned.


What use are leaves of gold to me?

T’were better they were paper, see

Upon which, as I said

All fortunes were enscribéd.


Then by her grace

I could see

What it is

I’m meant to be.


Gold brings bread

and surety

But reassurance

comes from

A fortune cookie.


(© Copyright Pola Negri 18/11/2015.)



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