St Dorothy: a poem by Alysse Aallyn

ST DOROTHY

Who is this man
Cruel mouth tipped like a cesspit
To catch the unwary?

It is the Roman Inquisitor
Who takes flowers, accepts apples
From the sunflower-faced girl.

She tends her father’s gate
They argue and
He loses.

He jokes but does not forget.
They will meet again
At the World’s End.

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