Nun In Friar Small-Bro's Grave---Yard Part 2

Continuation With ghouls, unlearned, no stone’s unturned to burnish blame with Nun’s proud name        and leave the midnight sky... scarred. They raise their hats to copy cats        in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. While rumours spread amongst the dead, Nun stays the pace with saving grace,        and phantoms keep their face...marred. The maggot digs neath twisted twigs        in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. In tempests strong, Nun rings the gong but fails to rise in vacant eyes -        he palms a one-eyed trump...card. Nun sets her sail, to no avail        in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. Nun asks him why a bird can’t fly. His mouth, a rut, replies “tut, tut”,        with conscience painted white...tarred. A mushroom mold has taken hold        in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. “To fly aloft," he laughed and scoffed “lay bare your breast! I’ll do the rest,        I’ll bless you in the church...yard”. The golden rule's contrived for fools        in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. He cast the bait and wouldn't wait - once more defied, her wings denied,        the Kingfish is a bass...tard. A 'no' said twice must pay the price        in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. When day’s undone, and night’s begun, Nun stirs a cup and turns face up;        she's feeling that she’s ill...starred. ’Tis such a crime to waste her prime        in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. Nun plans to dine with sparkling wine but sips instead a bitter red        served with a crystal glass...shard, Behind the bog, beneath the fog        in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. Well, minstrels fight beyond the night and demons fete behind the gate,        while silence chokes the host...bard. The angel sings with broken wings          in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. The webs are spun neath dying sun; and caught ensnared, her flight impaired,        Nun’s thoughts are how they’ll die...hard. The puppet people storm the stee-        pled FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. And voices wail beyond the pale “The old taboo - it echoes true -        Nun’s bound to have her way...barred”. The schemes are strange and minds deranged        in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. Ms.! Cast your nets, but hedge your bets - there are no odds, where purple gods        and hungry idle ghosts...spar with nameless gnomes in catacombs        in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard.