The Leech Song
A nursery rhyme for forgotten girls and the things that fed on them
By Shannon HilsonPublished 2 months ago • Updated 2 months ago • 1 min read
Miss Lucy — Rendered by the author in Midjourney
Little black leech, little red thread,
Count all the girls they swore were dead.
One came home and one stayed late,
One slipped smiling through the gate.
White lace apron, iron key,
Someone else's pulse in me.
Wash the floor and bless the stain.
Tomorrow we'll begin again.
About the Creator
Shannon Hilson
Pro copywriter and storyteller chasing wonder and weirdness. Fiction, poetry, and occasional personal reflections live here.
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