deepundergroundpoetry.com
The hat of might.
In the tale of
Fruit of the
Deep woods
Where I soak the
Pain ,the fragments
Of the murky glass
King of the thee,
The ideal days of
Ideal to address
With in the post
Of the letters
In cards of
Court
I sit by river
And the moon
Gleams over me
to boat offshore
to colour greenth
in apples.
Fruit of the
Deep woods
Where I soak the
Pain ,the fragments
Of the murky glass
King of the thee,
The ideal days of
Ideal to address
With in the post
Of the letters
In cards of
Court
I sit by river
And the moon
Gleams over me
to boat offshore
to colour greenth
in apples.
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