The Dungeon fumes time ,
Wreaths of broken desires ,
Rise with complex heads ,
And return again to the same bed .
The icy sun melts and revive ,
Bees hoard and suck honey from the hive ,
The spider from swab builds cobweb ,
The reason shooter make butt the knave .
The bioscope gears the merry-go-round ,
Hide and seek continues with the hounds ,
Silence returns after the dram major’s sounds .
Why and how the world bodies forth !
With apparent senses and troubling cause ,
Who the duce knows ,-steeds the horse !
© Copyright 2016 A Passerby. All rights reserved.
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