A lithe monarch
In the willowy meadow;
Ourn phalanxes sutured
As seducer's of plush marshmallow pillow's.

Avow I shalt, one's high name
I'll be burned for her safety;
Taking her grazing
Drying her in the rain.

Anon her hand, to be on mine wrist
Apostle's of kinship, succulent wish;
None Asp's to swallow in, forgiveness of sin
Assenting in espousal, one letting me in.

To beget her, to giveth her a simper
beggarly I am, as beseeching get's bigger;
Since I'm losing all hope, placeth me on the bier
Moveth mine carrion, into the flame of tear's..



©Brandon nagley
©lonesome poet's poetry