Twenty
Peppered white
In the middle of snowfall
On top of the Pendle Hills,
Michelle was murdered
And by Mandrake
Sprinkled white in fury
Over a betrayal
Or a affair gone sour
Buried deep
In a distant age
Peddling across generations
Bent deep with two shots
One from the distance
Which struck Michelle down
From the distance
And the other moments later
Splattering her head
for half a metre across
Making identification
Nearly impossible,
Mumbling all the way
She asked for it
As he shot her again
Despite her pleading
It wasn’t her
It wasn’t her
Unaware how powerful
Her magic was.
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