Dear soft sweet marmalade
dripping down my airy head
your sheets are folded, ever made
to lay you in your bed
Soft eyes conspire
to pear like fire
through acid rain
and dull barbwire
You gleeful mourning morbid way
walk er'ly forward t'wards the day
and hem the guarment of the clay
that binds our dullest pain
Hear me, dear subtle sort
I will not play this ageless sport
to be the walker of the wims
that bends the flowers and their stems
If you reep the seeds you sow
and sowing reeps the weat
the weat grows old and crumbles low
'came dust beneith your feet
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