Courtly to dishonour,
A fief of fond earned rye.
Hindrance to the crying fields
Where doth I heard him die.
I've seen the wildness of the Hun.
The hypocricy of his lie.
Dig deep into the dying shame.
The coroner will pry.
The green candle still burns.
Points:
Time spent:
Canary word: Present
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Original Text:
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125,020 Literary Works • 672,861 Reviews
Awsome poem!
Please comment!
Yours,
E.M. Millington Synge aka P. C. Penne