Squalling Whilst No Hues Poem by C.D. Xiang

Demise of cries! Inward being incessant,
Convalescents being brawny now,
But melancholy itself avow
That its prowess being not quiescent.
Whilst all merriment being a bedrock,
Suddenly a raft of bombshell disclosed at one o'clock,
Devoid of clemency it miffed
All and sundry, being swift.
Squalling, no one preempt to snivel,
For gore unbridledly is novel,
Languorous and ultramarine hues,
Deep in the abode buried,
The sun abated,
With no productive ruse.