Down her throat it nipped,
bitterly it froze,
the water that she sipped,
straight from the hose
She pretended not to notice,
Casually she sat
Her figgiting would grow,
only noticed by her cat
When her face changed hue,
suspicion would arise
There was nothing she could do,
To make them close their eyes
On the floor she pounded,
and everyone ran over,
but when silently she grounded,
her palm held out a clover
(con't..)
From the dinner table,
they took a butter knife
with no fear of label,
they took away her life
From her hands they snatched it,
beautiful and green
In their eyes a spark lit,
they had not been seen.
Running from the chamber,
running from the palace
things would grow much lamer
for what they did in malice.
Away they ran for miles,
away they ran for days
Sweat that came in piles,
created mounting haze.
Never once did they look back,
not one thought to remember,
the clover in the leather sack,
lost in the cold december.
