EruditioA Poem by SwordfishDoes the rose fall from its thorn; The tree the root thereafter? For in its state in woeful scorn The bees come bumbling after. A makeshift dream in one accord a mist, a moat of laughter. In place, a chime The tool, the time; To Be then you're the master. © 2015 Swordfish |
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Added on December 19, 2015 Last Updated on December 19, 2015 Author
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