P
Pia
Guest
Red is the colour of my hair
My long, tangled, lovely hair
Tumbling over white shoulders
Ravaged by the marks of the lash
Seared with the letter V
Red as deep as my lips
That loved and kissed so softly
By the cool pond in Priziac
And laid me on the grassy bank
Stealing my soul for ever
Red as dark as my blood
On the white snow that January day
My wrists bound to the wooden post
Clothes torn and back bared
My tears staining my face
Red is the brazier's fire
My back tied to the boards
The cords cutting me
Five times they burn my legs
My screams masking my silence
The day is clouded grey
They drag my helpless frame
Over Quimper's cobbles
Past the silent stares
Towards the Place Saint-Corentin
Grey is the colour of my shift
They pull it from my shoulders
Long hair lifted from my face
The noose placed round my neck
My heart, my red red heart!
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