Creep of vine to chill the trap,
hide the crack of time,
bury diverse past and hope;
tassel cold, mad mind.
Plaster full the monument,
mist the memories,
lucid is the epitaph -
grave holds who we've been.
Tawny is the sunset,
at the port of death,
born again eternally,
sufferings at rest.
https://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2016/05/29/wordle-253/
One that begs for reciting out loud - it has a nice tripping meter.
ReplyDelete(Is the epitaph too well-mannered to p in public?) :)
DeleteTypo. sorry.