Saffron, Saffron
I've seen the skull beneath the scone
It's sitting there white as a bone!
Webster! Leave these kids alone!
I've seen the writing on the wall,
When there was nothing there at all!
Save a finger's ragged scratch of chipped paint--bloody patch
smeared upon faded space of yellowed white meaninglessness
What is it that cannot be read?
I think I'll add this line then go to bed.
| Contributors: | Roland, Stacy, Lucretia. |
| Poem finished: | 7th June 1997. |