Rag Lady

Time stills

Clocks Rest

Frozen air lights shallow breath


Toes numb with dread

Resigned to follow

One made of thread


Knuckles clenched

Jaw taut

Committed to the last walk


Such cunning serpentine

He treads her path weaved of vine


Atop a mound of earth she waits

Hands plead when prior would take

No ear to whisper or palm to charm

To her a man can do no harm


When at last she turns her head

He is damned to earth, the final bed


As from her rags flow

A body of echoes.

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