Sticks and stones
may break my bones,
but you'll never
see me quiver,
when I wither.
Into the forest,
Red Ridinghood
sing your chorus,
the "Bad Wolf", allured,
becomes your victim secured.
Goosey, goosey, gander,
tied me to an anchor,
thrown down your stairs,
someone hear my prayers,
to survive the refiner's fire.
Old Mother Hubbard
throw me your bone,
no more of the unknown,
look at what we have sown,
dark and deary tones.
At the Mulberry bush
we'll go round and round,
hand in hand we're bound,
inflicting unsealing wounds,
we never belonged together.
Jan 20, 2020
Jan 20, 2020 at 10:29 AM UTC
Sticks and stones
may break my bones,
but you'll never
see me quiver,
when I wither.
Into the forest,
Red Ridinghood
sing your chorus,
the "Bad Wolf", allured,
becomes your victim secured.
Goosey, goosey, gander,
tied me to an anchor,
thrown down your stairs,
someone hear my prayers,
to survive the refiner's fire.
Old Mother Hubbard
throw me your bone,
no more of the unknown,
look at what we have sown,
dark and deary tones.
At the Mulberry bush
we'll go round and round,
hand in hand we're bound,
inflicting unsealing wounds,
we never belonged together.
Something that popped into my head and I went with while listening to the song "The Humble River".