Do not think me foolish,
For I know not of my serve.
Reason’t my penny-wits ghoulish.
Pound away, save your nerve.
Pick not through my mental pocketry,
For you’ll get lost and’ll demise.
Salvage your adroit musketry.
Yield to your own surmise.
With pity I’ll part you penitent.
With vengeance filled be your eyes.
Till He clefts this amity renitent
And we meet… in all forms, chastised.
Amity chastised
© Copyright: Fern, 2004
Свидетельство о публикации №104022100512
Свидетельство о публикации №104022100512
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