If your Nerve,
deny you
Go above your
Nerve
He can lean
against the Grave,
If he fear to
swerve
That's a steady
posture
Never any bend
Held of those
Brass arms
Best Giant
made
If your Soul
seesaw
Lift the Flesh
door
The Poltroon
wants Oxygen
Nothing more
Emily Dickinson
No comments:
Post a Comment