Poetronyms Poem by Saint Cynosure

I wound my dressing around my wound,
as I tear it off a tear.

Rolls down my cheek I realize,
what your eyes are about to hear.

The wind cant wind my watch I watch,
and see it isn't so.

The bark cant bark its from the tree,
and not the dog I know.

The dove dove down then swooped back up,
just putting on a show.

I shoot the bow then take a bow,
as I aced the target slow.

I am so close to close this deal,
just read what I've read you'll know.