The wild wasps sting and savage is the air.

The cauldron bubbles as the witches stir
The walls are convex, and the spoon  is steel
The population struggle without flair

There is too much heat and little air.
In such trials, our worst selves are revealed
The cauldron bubbles as the witches stir

A newcomer may see fresh ways to go
But will their new perspectives be concealed?
The population’s jangled nerves are bare

The length of  time, confusion and despair
Makes even nerves  of gold too hot to seal
The cauldron bubbles as the witches stir

The deep emotions feared cause many tears
And lonely are the sick who’ re ridiculed
We creep like frightened wolves into our lairs

The death of love, the elevated fools;
The calculations deviant of misrule.
The people stumble on the way to where?
The wild wasps sting and savage is the air.

 

 

 

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About Kate Thwaite

I love writing , conversation, art, wild flowers, music and air.And books
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