Quag


Twisted roils of floating brume
Convene atop the low
Lament with dirge of hollow tune
In glimmer mute, pale lampyrid glow

Through silhouette of fetid murk
The wind doth doleful wail
While dew of dolor ever lurk
To prompt her of her fail

Gloaming dim of waxing moon
Hush bastards Indigo
Tween rotted knobs of advent gloom
In pith the patient corvid hole

Sighs of sorrow lip the fen
Heaped high as tossed off slag
Passion had its moment then
Was ever lost in ichor quag

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