Whittle

Hide not your flaws
in regret-filled metaphors
as regretfully better chores
await on yonder shoreline

Hens may smell fox
advancing ‘cross copse
Hence fennel fills locks
Hemlock squandered on your crime

Dejection’s reflections affect not directions of
elected corrections collected to cast hexes on
lessons that lessened the blessings of lexicon
inflected on faithful in Mexican desert in your time

Simon sits dry on a pylon in the sky
Only satisfies sires sliding idly by on
the sides of asses, with assets piled high
Honest men never try to carve from flawed pine

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