The morrows moon, to white of bloom.
The midnight at its whitt.
The reddest sky, to die imply,
The morn is strong to fit.
The shadow locked in truth of blood,
The blinded angels see.
A farm so blocked, a horses stud.
Alas for sympathy.
Reckless here i do betray,
The oceans voicless cry.
Remain to simple fields of hey.
A song to strangley die.
© 1 day ago