Two feet trudge towards the yew tree
Grasses, silver-green in the night, prickling her soles
Looking up, in toes pale and cold,
She whispers a psittacism that sounds like froth

People mock her lunacy
But the moon hears a prayer that no one heeds.

© 2017 Maria. All Rights Reserved.

Illustration by Tang Yau Hoong

In response to dVerse’s Quadrille: Whisper quadrille hosted by De and  MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie’s Wordle #138 

Let’s softly sneak in the word whisper. Or shout it. Noun it. Verb it. Slip it an extra letter or two. 🙂

Head over here to join the fun: