My poor life This shawl Frayed on strongboxes full of gold I roll along with Dream And smoke And the only flame in the universe
Teeth of winter, sinking into my flesh, my own clacking against each other like knitting needles, and I wish they'd knit a heavy shawl around my shoulders before widening into a yawn. Why do I always yawn when I'm cold?
The lunatic fringe is more like a Spanish shawl, where the fringe makes up the entire garment.
A small speckled visitor Wearing a crimson cape Brighter than a cherry Smaller than a grape A polka-dotted someone Walking on my wall A black-hooded lady In a scarlet shawl.