poetry

tsk-tsk

I can't count the times...

I can’t count the times my momma
      Tsk-tsked it,
  And I know that sky-haired hawk, to this very day,
Would tempt of empty talk that I’d all
            But missed it;
    Had I’ve been a luckless fool, she might’ve sold her say,
Yet my heart’s somehow saved my life more than
                  It’s risked it.


Previous Post:
    Poetry: Grammy
        https://windstrewn.com/2018/09/19/grandmother/


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