Tumultuous tidings
the sea is up-riding
the mass of purity
and plighting policies.
It is misfortune you write this.
You see, there is misfortune in the lonely nights
where a corner is devoid of joy.
Where for the sky is burning
lilies that lacked
sensual treaties.
Unmasked by those of fame.
Fawns that whimper,
quails that clipper,
and nails that chipper.
Stipend is but a cost
of those that help
but loath twice or more
within the same day.
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