To the quick at night,
the bright for bright.
As light it fights,
between the night.
There is a rose so blunder,
It makes a thunder,
Transpiring the night,
To quickened lights,
That find a shame,
That arose a collar,
That bent the break,
That winged a scholar
To a sound so right,
It fools the night.
From a rose so blunder,
it makes you ponder.
The game is this,
and in this whole order.
From beginning to end,
to end all over.
Is a chain of twins,
And its own daughters.
Is the light that breaks,
Between its fathers.
To the out of mind,
that mind and bother.
The fruitfully lost,
and quickened fathers.
Goes a woman astray,
who knows no daughters.
As she sits and stands,
And thinks of bothers.
Her minds erray,
She knows no others.
So she bickers and bands,
between the altar.
Of her broken hands,
and spoken falters.
Her distance is well,
she means to cauter.
But her rose is black,
shes but a blunder
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Submission Name: BLack rose blunder
