He was the keeper of her secrets --
all the bright and dark
spots she had buried deepest
he found with ease
his arms long, his fingers
in everything, nimble
and good with knots
his words carefully shaped, a ring
of old keys working their way
through rusted locks like magic
This poem is a Magpie Tale . . .
And who can't find a tale in this image?
So write your own
and share it here . . .