And love, oh my, such deadly vices, those that tickle
and collate
To stand about amongst such dandies, with nary a subfusive state
But why? Would it be much better if,
no, no that shall never be.
What would we want in our complacent crises
if nothing but a loveless mate.
what terrors fall to alleys,
what shivers grasp the spine.
Frugal in that heated high, of veins
and speedways and lovely skies,
while robins chase their
yellow birds
amidst Jamaican trees.
Lorn, what would such feathered fiends
give by unison,
something mystic, one is certain
one would twirttle, the other twen.
looming moan of great protraction
followed by gancrous notion.
one by one, and twig by twig,
a mighty nest is born.
A soothing twistle
hidden by the passing wind
Two flames beneath the young birch tree,
not yet to match a meet.
A roaring roast atop the roots
hunger, hunger, the quivering air
consumed to fuel a sweat
Redbreast, how swarthy thee,
and too your shining aide
flashing toward amends.
Heat pushes further,
salted embers flash!
Return Redbreast, what news have you, for
the yellow bird within your nest?
The shining aide, was met
with deathly grins!
betrothed to a steely cage,
naught to sing again.
In his echoed dubiety,
the yellow bird was gone.
Lone he sat, upon his branch
knowing the both of us.
How quickly did those torrid flames,
burn up the kindly thrush. |
Submission Name: The Thrush
