Oh Magaly, I’m sad for thee.
How shall I be right glad for thee?
For sure thy birthday
is no mirth day –
the number of the years
must bring a girl to tears.
But Magaly flung up her head
and to her spurious well-wisher said:
The tomb is dank and full of mould.
Better by far to keep growing old.
The years are mine to live and own,
my path to travel unto Crone.
There’s wisdom in my shining skull
and flesh upon it, firm and full.
My bones will not be clanking yet.
I’ll thank you with this epithet –
If you’ve the urge to sing a dirge,
you silly cow, go take a purge!
For Day 2 in Dark Poetry for the Cruellest Month, Magaly requested a birthday dirge.
This is beautifully written :D especially adore the closing lines.
ReplyDeleteLots of love,
Sanaa
Literal LOL. This was so cute!
ReplyDeleteI feel like running around the room shouting this battle cry of a poem so that all can hear it! I love how you've voiced my feelings about getting all as if you've been in my skull and read them right out of my brain--witchy knows witchy, and goodness knows that we adore all our seasons... especially the one that gives us the tools of a Crone, since we've been around enough to do and do it well.
ReplyDeleteDelicious, Rosemary! And the last lines made me roar. ♥♥♥
So adorable! Anything that ends with "you silly cow" is fine by me! Yum!
ReplyDelete"If you’ve the urge to sing a dirge, you silly cow, go take a purge!"
ReplyDeleteThat made me laugh!
Your last stanza is so funny! Great advice! Good words!
ReplyDeleteOh, this is super! Every verse is funnier than the last one -- I especially like the "urge, dirge, purge" wordplay in the last verse!
ReplyDeleteHAHAHAha....awesome! So totally "Magaly" :D XXX
ReplyDelete