The rejuvinate scrap hangs there,
Perched within a throne of white seashell.
It wanders, unsatisfied into the depths
Where it is plucked, pondered, and placed back again.
Easily could it be tossed,
And thrown into the rime,
Yet night after night it slumbers,
falls,
and it saved from the Eau.
Through light and dark, it remains proudly peeled and empty.
Mar 11, 2010
Mar 11, 2010 at 10:41 PM UTC
The rejuvinate scrap hangs there,
Perched within a throne of white seashell.
It wanders, unsatisfied into the depths
Where it is plucked, pondered, and placed back again.
Easily could it be tossed,
And thrown into the rime,
Yet night after night it slumbers,
falls,
and it saved from the Eau.
Through light and dark, it remains proudly peeled and empty.