Song of a wild girl

      In the woods, I met a lady who wanted to take me away.
             To proper me up pretty before the morrow day. 
                    So, I let her take and do away with me.
      Hoping someday to return, to the woods that called me.

                              To a fancy room she led me,
                                 With a pot full of steam.
                                 Said she "tis to wash ye".
                        My clothes quickly snatched away,
                        She left me there all hot and grey.

                       When I was finished with the bath,
                            (Oh horrid thing of wrath!)
                                And mostly dry was I.
                           My hair pulled tightly back.
                   And my back stretched across a rack.

                       She then produced a lacy case.
                               (As if I were a vase).
                              Try as I could or would,
                            Closer and closer it came.
                        Til I felt quite dreadfully lame.

                         My two ears once perfect and fine,
                           A needle made no longer mine;
                                To hang dazzling gems
                          My dress was beautifully blue.
                              And of the finest satin too.

                      A small piece of metal  ground me.
                          Deadbolts of skin bound me.
                             On my finger, she slipped
                               Stone set in silver ring.
                          As if I were to marry a king.

                    It felt so tight I nearly could breath,
                                I wanted just to leave.
                                  Led me to a mirror.
                           Here be holding I now stand.
                      I suppose I look somewhat grand.

                                                                              ~ Katrina             


Can you guess all of the things the lady did to her? That she thinks are torture.

An untitled poem

Hardly ever do I look into the sky;

And wonder how many miles, the Swiss alps are from me,

Quite often I do wonder if I

Take ten feet, and go around the world what, I will find.

Hardly ever do I think about

how many aunts’ uncles, and cousins my friends have.

Quite often I do ponder ideas,

  Poems, and scripts, which suggest views of life, liberty, and God.

Hardly ever do I wonder if Jason

was honorable, in his deed concerning the golden fleece.

Quite often I do wonder if I

Offend, scar and hurt people, without giving a thought.

Hardly ever do I wonder if the

Beautiful language of flowers is still widely recognized.

Quite often I do wonder how many

 people have walked this foot of ground, and what they first thought.

Hardly ever do I wonder if I

 Ever will fall off a cliff, not die instantly and suffer immensely.  

Quite often I do look to the stars;

and wonder at their beauty glimmering with the yellow of fire.

                                                           --Katrina