Lined with Crimson veils which drape down to the floor 
Glass allowing in the light, smeared with cat prints 
Creating shapes along the floor 
Sometimes blinding, sometimes fading

Outside the grass bends in the wind 
The trees bow down to its might. 
It can’t get in, it won’t get in 
That smeared glass and crimson veils 
Protect me from the storm.

By Poetry in Stitches

Buy Me a Coffee at

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *