The claws of a certain evil
Tear through the veil of a fallen sun
To grasp 7 sturdy vines
That stems from the root of one
To poison the new wine's amethyst sheen yield
With drunken despair's delight
Yet, at the glad age of day
This is the harvester's field
Avowed through laborious light
YOU ARE READING
Realms
PoetryA collection of poetry of all the good and bad things. © All rights reserved.
