You can’t offer men that which is tender and warm
When your heart is so spoiled it curdles fresh blood.
When your footsteps are warning of mercilous storm
and your souring milk tastes of cold bitter mud.
Once a beautiful flower now drowning in waste
while the fields that surround you flourish in light
that which can feed you, you fear for its taste
So you comfortably rot in the darkness of night
Opening Poem for an unfinished musical titled A Woman Made Cold.
by Angie Hoover- Hillhouse
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