Mad Waiting The lady in blue- Will she come today? Will she come tomorrow? Who knows the next tea time? Sitting in the same armchair, Faded, musty, you can hear the buzz of fleas, The owner is like the dead; still, except a few movements. An odd mat of bright, red, hair, Holds up a worn hat with the stench of mercury, Calloused hands wrapped in old bandages. Pour more into the chipped cup, Realize that once more the tea is cold, But why prepare more if one is to have no guests. But what if she comes today-tomorrow...? Why is a raven like a writing desk...? She is very late, late for an important date. Late..... We all of the Hatter within us, Me, have I gone mad?
React
Comment
Share
Bubbleð
Delete Comment
Are you sure that you want to delete this comment ?