Night fathered he, I know.
Seems winter still, and, you away
belied some hidden cause.
As spirit broken hobbled off,
amid brown and withered brush.
Healed not by dawns light, gave way to itch.
Drawn now in ‘twixt delusive, tepid airs.
Compulsorily lost, now more than e’er.
refute
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Again very good, but this one goes over my head. I really like it though even if I don’t exactly understand it.
Well, maybe I should get rid of it if it’s that hard to understand! You never can tell when you write something – it’s crystal clear to me after all
I’ll have to think about it…some rewording may ensue…