Confined

Confined Sara Nolan

Poetry 36

Crimson wings flicker in tune of the eastern winds; she’s honeysuckled to her brim, each leg is irked with the load of her wings. A beauty she will continue to be, nothing like the dragonflies or honeybees vaulted in a pen for a time, her hues were hindered her latent care was shriveled within withheld her joy from all of the deplored swarm glory and goodness attached at the thorax jaunty wit drizzled from her crown of antennas she banters and buzzes jitterbugging across each greenery.