The Starving Lilly Thief

Reads: 22  | Likes: 1  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 1

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Photo (c) Pexels

The lilly thief once fed in bliss on fattened dew from Avalon,

and olived pears and purpled plums that ripened in the scarlet dawn.

In Camelot she grazed in heather, in Cockaigne she knew naught want,

the amaranthine there was plenty, the pomegrante was heaved and flaunt.


And never in her wildest dreams, and neither was she yet fortold,

that hunger was the greater thief, that starving was yet to unfold.

The chittered soup at last grows cold, the vines do wither in Shangri-La.

Plague flurls his laughing dance of death with nothing left on which to gnaw.


The starving lilly, the languished thief, lays somewhere lonely in a deep, deep sleep,

where the dew is dry like the bones beneath, where the harvest there cannot be reaped,

and she dreams of gardens gorged in fattened figs and rows of rudy sycamores,

and she roves the empty fields of wheat where she steals the crumbs from rangy boars.

Submitted: October 09, 2021

© Copyright 2021 L.E. Belle. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:



The shade of Lewis Carroll is smiling somewhere, murmuring Jabberwocky under his breath...

Sat, October 9th, 2021 7:22am


Very likely indeed :)
Thanks for reading

Sat, October 9th, 2021 4:43am

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