The Fern, The Faun and The Folly

Slither away slow, sallow snake

shiver and shake as dawn breaks

A tear, a quake, what difference does it make?

So stoic and sombre is the lonely drake

 

Slow on the uptake, with good intentions

Shallow breath intake the swimmer never mentions

Burning heels from countless steps

yearning, he feels where the countess slept

until he stepped inept into icy depths

that fill length and breadth, overflowing as he wept

 

Bare room, tin tomb, empty womb

’tis a sin to resume working the empty loom

Protecting priestess from his love of the gloom

desperate to know what he dare not assume

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