Low

Adder coils up tight

in the morning thaw,

her spangled train helter skeltering down

and tangled in stories spun of age:

 

Is there anywhere safe for a snake, who's

Scorned as Eden's "honey-trap"?

Tossed like cauldron fodder in to a witches' bake?

And chased off cliffs by a so called Saint?!!!

 

No wonder adder stays low when

slipping the bracken for a slither of light,

keeping the cloistered ruby of her eye

out of all shallow sight.

Done