To, Twas, Thee Night of My Soul
Thy Wishes, Succeed Thy Will,
Thee Precepass Of Thee, Undecided . . .
Twas Thee That entakes the Wound,
To impose onto Thee, Thrush,
Thy Wound is'en Extacey of Thy
Encombress . . .
Of Thy Soul
Copyright © Matthew Rozon | Year Posted 2018
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