Sunday, May 13, 2012
This cloth tends to be simple,
Simpler virtues predict a gathering
When the coming fairly gives in.
The fair comment abolishes the summer
Yesterday, as tomorrow witnesses colours
Confounding me, speaking distressed.
Mighty hazards read me as I quell the verdict,
Judges madden me with their murders,
Kissing the fishermen and colliding with flesh,
The doctor does not give this opinion, though.
Just outside a frown is cast
On the oboe of dread, a fair shine
Of sound so concentrated in sins,
Then this sinning weighs on us like the
Grave features of a face.