The Fortune Teller
An old crow
looked deeply
into...
a sour girl’s
empty Coca Cola glass.
To
read
her
story
still foaming.
If you marry
in middle age;
froth
told patterned;
within chipped glass.
When tired
of living alone;
when even
unable to live;
with sour self anymore.
Then
you will
rash reluctantly marry.
Your choice to chose
is not your own.
poem by Terence George Craddock
Added by Poetry Lover
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