It has come to my attention
That our calm exterior
Tempts the minions
And though they see the fire
Above us
Around us
They are not perturbed
The cloud too beautiful
Confuses their judgement
To respect her or to run
So let it be known
Every hour
Our army will rise
Practice makes perfect
And with God on our side
Our victory
Is assured.
About the Creator
The Missing Ingredient
The first time I saw her, she was wearing a velvety, red ribbon in her hair. She carried a small leather backpack everywhere. She searched the forest by turning stones, checking beneath shrubs, listening to the wind as if it might carry an answer.
By Imola Tóthabout 14 hours ago in Fiction
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