Her poetry is a wrist continuously weeping
Emending fallacy of her bare actual being
Liturgy of her demurring heart screams
Perhaps a pellucid précis of sodality's grim
Moreover, never did the words pierced thee
Ephipany to her cloaked cry, 'tis ought to be
Jul 31, 2017
Jul 31, 2017 at 4:25 AM UTC
Her poetry is a wrist continuously weeping
Emending fallacy of her bare actual being
Liturgy of her demurring heart screams
Perhaps a pellucid précis of sodality's grim
Moreover, never did the words pierced thee
Ephipany to her cloaked cry, 'tis ought to be
It is an acrostic poem.
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