Doves flap their wings,
as this little angel sings
circling this little talent
of a circle of so ancient
White wings in the sky
They say a lil goodbye
Crushed are emotions
that are felt so forever.

Snow, White, Sleeping Beauty,
upon tower is Rumpelstiltskin,
Sleep is sometimes gasping breathe
and I don't know what hell brings.

Little Red Riding Hood,
and her bags of little goodies
who knows if they did placid
terrible demon of his bringing's

A sweet breach can be a leech,
to a beauty who is so sweet,
And her Grand-mother devoured,
The wolf is of red -sweet beetroot,
This is an act of a wise sick pretend.

If bleach can't wash away all the stains
it means there's parts of us still remains.
And for all of us still day tick dreaming,
we all get left behind, clock unwinding

A shadow stalks each cotton, wool, wilk,
while lights out before the foul sick milk.
Leaves a reality of the lovely touchy silk
softly feeling, such fabric never once felt.

If I could sing like my new sisters,
no part of me would be so missing
And an angelic sky so fills my eyes
Wash away the skin in how I cried

No blue or black or grey or misery,
don't wish for wings to be clipped,
I like it in wide of blue of the skies
Contention won't be a soul may lies.

Snow may be an answer to the now
Red weeds of I which I had sowed
Not gathering is killing my smile
I'm imperfect from since my cradle.

What a wishful fool, arrives the shore,
And soft are the apples until the core
And plums are unlike a pounding of drums
And this young girl sings for a crowd to bring.

Singing and arm punching
On you-tube, said she was cute,
and a talented Pianist,
and no  need to play the flute
With an Angel admirably flew

And this poem was inspired
but this little 6 year old,
she was on fire
and warmed left anyone cold
Just the pianist,
and an angel.


https://youtu.be/yQxhagDX0i8?si=QMISI3DilMGXZHSt


The poem, Untitled 2 will come soon.