Although your left arm’s broken,
Truer words have not been spoken.
Charades of tempered, fated past,
Filtering boughs that have passed.
Courting others in a garden of hope;
Writhing infamy, falling off a rope.
Two words, three vowels, stealthy,
Eating bacon fat is not healthy.
A portrait of a fair young maiden,
Across the town she was made in.

Posted In: Poems

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