Philosophical

filled with images rolling like bird
severy wet edge finds moldy old spot
savory heart always yearning whatnot
but block not,
for what she heard:
from the beginning it was a hot spot
the herb gardens had such fair aroma
they even warded off sinister insect
come what may
or come what not
she saw her face turn in pools Water
from when songs Dove first were sung
the flavour of Morning turned a mist
and by midday summer autumns to Fall
for the Byline of winters all-in-all
draw Mine perfect particulars of rot
	-self of heinous veracity plucks lot
appalled and obliged, disfigured bumbling buffoon,
grasps at threads of life with sausage-like fingers crippling.

born to rot