The Fleet of Time
Oh! young persimmon tree how ripe and seraphic art thee; ignorance at thy feet, when thou were but a babe,with no words to cede, mum as the mummy. How life welcomes thee, ephemeral and saccharine, as so forth, life begets thee. Brushing past the simple melodies, until the arrow of time strikes, she bears her fangs into thy lungs,and screams and yelps and wrings her tongue, she knocks thee down, and weighs thy wrongs, and captures thee in her wings of thorn. However, thou art at thy golden age, for dried persimmons are at their finest!
so come and rejoice!
for empyrean angels
call to us with delight
1-9-18
ANGELS DANCED POETRY CONTEST
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Syllable count: howmanysyllables.com
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