Fit
Impeach the air, if you can see
it carries sound, not from decree.
Our love between, infinity
exhorting faith's infirmity.
And then restore, no word seems free
to fitting, as monotony
does fit a schedule to a fee,
I fit no pace that shoulders thee.
For I result but of a life
and thee, but of a constant strife.
The joke by par expand relies
the futile here, of what is guise.
Do fit thy needing to concise,
as being loved, affords ~ applies!
Copyright © Paula Larson | Year Posted 2006
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment