the blood is draining from her face,

falling further outa place,

escape the unusual dream,

of the trick, spell, scheme,

becoming too laid back,

feelings never lack,

feeling dizzy, fain, and weak,

cos only of you i speak,

herself she is reclaimimg,

but yet to start the blaming,

of the master, cast the spell,

but of him she would not tell,

hid herself from a day,

thinking thoughts she dare not say,

loosing health and common sense,

taking all too much offence,

awaiting someone to ask,

her to speak of her past task,

and from now on till that day,

nobody ask her,

she not say.

xx.

by nicole elizabeth bernadette brunt.