What a pretty pram, my dear, so fey and queer and quiet--
Emptiness so elegant I feel compelled to buy it
And fill it full of roses, dear, their heads cut clean and slanted
At each stem like diadems of royalty recanted.
I'll roll them 'neath a crescent moon, my dear to soothe your sorrow--
To plant again by Gypsy men I'll hire for gold tomorrow.
For Kerry's micro-poetry challenge at Real Toads.
This is the first poem written in my gorgeous new journal given to me by Hedgewitch.