Baptism of Tar



What's to be done, as a captive

Of loneliness and perhaps despair?

What other worlds, symphonies

We have never known, searching

For a chance to shine, Howsoever

In what light is the fairie afright

Of imperfection, when her wings

Are judt a little too bleak, clipped

And she is cheated into the forest

Like a shackled horse that abhors

Its every trotting footstep because

It only knows where to go because

Baptist of tar drenches the tomb


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