Rachel

Aged bordeaux crimson lay the stain

Upon the silken wedding train

That rested with a wrinkled fold

Beneath her lifeless left hand's gold.

Her skin was pale and cold, like snow

That never melts. An Eskimo

Could not with certainty have said

If she was made of ice or dead.

But he who from the chapel fled

With bloody knife in hand did know

That he had left her dead and cold

Who once with him in bed had lain.

T.G. 1/21/2023