Skip to main content
Author
Man who took my trust then didn't call —
may you turn into a demon sprouting three horns
and be despised by the people.
May you turn into a bird in a frosty paddy, pelted by snow and hail,
and your feet freeze.
May you turn into duckweed floating on a pond
and sway helplessly, to and fro.
Rate this poem
No votes yet