Bleeding from wounds
imposed in the dark,
Barely a world to last
her a life,
Hippocrates
vanquished by silver so stark
Now lapping and
drooling ‘ere morning comes wife.
"Crypt for a crib" screams the unblemished eye,
Speaking out silence
lost upon men,
Spitfire and vitriol’s
imminence nigh
Fruitfulness flushed
from the rosewater fen.
Where could it be,
The bare wooden tree,
If but not to deny,
Its own progeny?
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