Fear thee not, for thy sweet stench of dormant death is in the aboulic air
Thus in thy fraught, and benighted breath to ask for thy life to shamely spare
Or be quick thy death, defecating and releasing thy sacred salubrious soul
For thy wick in candle, awaiting a chastising seditious smoke streaked stroll
For is not a man, peacefully protected by graceful gods and ascending angels
Or be thy heavens plan rigorously rejected by those who sever thy carpal cables
Alas in thy fetal fright, I bid thee a fond adieu with a savourless somber sorrow
For thus our festive flight with holy honeydew and minstrels musical morrow.
02.20.2017
Fear
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