A Nightmare Of Foul


A nightmare of foul and a woeful moan,
Drenched in sorrow two pair of loving eyes.
Kind beest the lass in love wast all alone,
And fair beest the drops of angst shed in guise

Let it be the pain distressed in between,
To shed more drops of sorrow in disdain.
For my rhyme shall beest a mark on thy skin,
And my poem for thee beest a blot of pain.

O' You shall forget me but I may not,
My eyes could see a blooming flower in thee.
Time shall embark thee on a new venture,
But my poem shall remind you about me.

Fair quoth,"Hail ho! no soil is that fertile,
nor no word there shall be to make thee smile.

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