under its spell
O speak,
Abettor of aging sorrows,
Of worsen'd 'morrows.
Speak ne'r of love,
Nor warmth,
Nor hunger.
These ancient drives,
Within thou slumber.
For thou hast wrenched,
Thy heart from mine.
O speak,
Dear love,
Of morbid time.
Yet speak no more,
My soul doth plea.
'Till final drops of blood hath ceased;
Shed from thou or shed from me,
Shall we ne'r know humility?
- Me
P.S. And here's a poem from my pet dog Lucy:
Ruff,
Ruff ruff,
Auuuur aurrrrr.
- Lucy
I think it's about chasing a bull dog over a bone - But you never really know with Lucy's poetry.
All of the beautiful things in this world - spiraling staircases, fluffy blue clouds - all of these treasures I hold dear to my heart as I cough up my lungs. I have been sick with a cold. I am going to steal your chicken noodle soup.
Abettor of aging sorrows,
Of worsen'd 'morrows.
Speak ne'r of love,
Nor warmth,
Nor hunger.
These ancient drives,
Within thou slumber.
For thou hast wrenched,
Thy heart from mine.
O speak,
Dear love,
Of morbid time.
Yet speak no more,
My soul doth plea.
'Till final drops of blood hath ceased;
Shed from thou or shed from me,
Shall we ne'r know humility?
- Me
P.S. And here's a poem from my pet dog Lucy:
Ruff,
Ruff ruff,
Auuuur aurrrrr.
- Lucy
I think it's about chasing a bull dog over a bone - But you never really know with Lucy's poetry.
All of the beautiful things in this world - spiraling staircases, fluffy blue clouds - all of these treasures I hold dear to my heart as I cough up my lungs. I have been sick with a cold. I am going to steal your chicken noodle soup.