The First Thistle Of June

On the first thistle of June

the devil sings his tune,

Lend me your ear

three deaths haunt the seer.

Wicked birds will fly

on their very first try

to gather children’s hearts

to flavor hell’s tarts.

Gold, raven, and ginger hair

you never know where

beaks will seal dreams

in the blood wax of screams.

Henny, penny, the seer counts to three.

The clock ticks what is and never will be.

Shadows coffin corners of the room

as feathery flutters ripple her womb.

Nightshade is braided to hang on a door

to steal breath, to settle a score.

For every when there’s a where

for every hate there’s a glare.

Sadly the seer is you and me

we pluck love with division and fertilize weeds.

If we keep venom from the tip of our tongues,

the bile song of evil will stop being sung.

So choose the music you sing well

to usher in peace or open the door wider to hell.

We are the world and we chart its course

and no terrain harsher than that of remorse.

 ©Susie Clevenger 2016

Real Toads ~ Eerie Nursery Rhymes