Fairy Tales
The house is cold.
Windsweeps whistle in chimneys,
showering hearths with blackest melodies.
The house is cold.
Windsweeps whistle in chimneys,
showering hearths with blackest melodies.
Our shivering hearts tell Cinderella stories
while, underneath us, the rats
roll a pumpkin around in the cellar.
God, mother!
Speak true.
Tia Azulay 07Mar94-10Nov96
Copyright © 1994, 2006 Tia Azulay
