The Fortune Teller (Poem)

She’s an ordinary woman

You can see it in her face

She spends her days in knocking doors

And selling sprigs of lace

It’s only when you see her eyes

Her penetrating stare

The thinly veiled gleaming hints

Of madness lurking there

For she’s a fortune teller

She’ll gladly read your palm

Or sell you heather,  rabbits feet,

To keep you safe from harm

Her smiles beguile,  her easy charm

Will put you at your ease

You’ll welcome her with open arms

And cakes and cups of tea

 

But,  beware this gypsy woman! 

Don’t let her in your room!

Her palm is crossed with blood and death

And bears the mark of doom

For all the kind and trusting folk

Who had their fortunes told

Are lying in the cold dark earth

And never will grow old.

Marie

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About Marie

An eccentric & quirky artist and writer who fills her time between fantasy roleplaying sessions with painting, writing and playing her guitar (rather badly). Usually to be found with paint-stained fingers surrounded by books and tubes of acrylic paint.
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7 Responses to The Fortune Teller (Poem)

  1. I really like this! It’s interesting.

    Liked by 1 person

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