like ice jammed into an envelope,
mailed sharp to the heart of your flabby complacency.
Oh, I'm sorry, dear.
I know how you hate talk of the slaughter
which necessarily precedes your roast of beef on its platter.
something just hit the window
hard enough to dent the lead and crack the old glass.
Rev'rend on his black horse rode,
passage marked with one red rose;
He found Esther, Esther cried,
one red rose by the waterside.
Get out of bed.
It's time we had a talk.
Don't you find me me appealing anymore, with red in my hair?
The ostler had a fine shovel,
and my last thought was of nothing in particular.
Now learn, at my insistence, the value of doing a job yourself.
You look gray,
as if all your blood had turned to smoke.
Listen to you sputtering, ridiculous, invoking your cotton-eared god.
Rev'rend on your errand rode.
Esther cried and Esther chose.
Gospel came surprisingly
in bloom and thorn blood-picked by me.
for grapeling's word list at Real Toads. I used "smoke", "winter" and "slaughter".