Praying for a cure
In the tumult of a rain-lashed moor
a mother bleats her confused woe
in grief over a lifeless corpse,
gaunt with eyes hollowed out by crows.
Dead against the fast-shut door,
her wails consumed by thunder claps
whisper through long-rotten cracks
phantasmally along the floor
to land a chilling shiver
on the shoulders of a mother, poor,
who cradles her ailing litter
praying to God for something more.
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