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WRN/6/LMOM/th/4/451
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Fire like a snake in the grass he slithers
like the mouse that i am i squeak
like the dogma tree blossoms wither
fading in my restrained eyes when he chooses to speak
like the jester dancing, he's present
accusing foibles at whim with glee
homely like the receding peasant
praying he doesn't aggress to me
like a shark, patient and capricious
lurking about to find his next meal
devouring my fins he thinks delicious
grinning broadly as he consumes his kill
