Stone Anger

I hold in my hand

A stone

A bitter stone

With a sharp point


I grasp it

In anger

It pierces

My palm

A drop of blood


Oh, the poor child

They cry around me


For the blood


How the big nasty stone

Got near me


When they ask

I tell them

I picked it up

And held it



I got angry

My anger’s cause

The imprisoning and death

Of an honest woman


They swoop down fast

Telling me

That it was just

She deserved to die

What she had done

Was treason

And it was only a matter of time


They tell me this


Flapping around me

Like plump swans


That my eyes

Are a thousand miles away


That the impressionable child

Is not listening

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