The Rhyme Game

Glowing candles flicker an imminent grief, Undulant meadows sink then moments brief, A recluse in silence deep, torment lies only if Truth recoups when heavy gravels lift, An answer wayward a curse or a gift. Cowslips they unfold of features like Jen, Savages abscond when clock strikes ten, Perverse acts send hungry crowds lighten, Hubris hold invariably the psyche taken, Perils unforeseen pulses of men quicken. Children's lax inexpiable chides mother, Intrinsic in nature mud ponds splatter, Bare foots they wrestle, would spectators rather? Such complacency splits its odd feather, A pervasive yet reprehensible matter. Pictures in frames of tumultuous memories, Mutinous rogues, malevolent the eye that sees, To confer one's wish in return good ceases, Tentative strokes across sheets her will flees, Exacerbates her desires tenfold with ease.