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Her
Folder:
Poems Leaves littered through black roads
Interrupting Her humble abode,
Cutting like a surgeon's knife
Vericose veins on a virgin wife,
Her lungs, no longer whole
Wheeze, blackened by sulfur and coal
Pillaging Her and taking ours
Marching Her to the final hour
Tempest and Mother a like
King and serf tremble at Her might
Violent, will be the end
Reclaiming Her once again
Ouch! Well, I hope Her end
Ouch! Well, I hope Her end isn't violent and she gets to heal instead. But I'm not really criticizing the last stanza.
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it's perfect.
it's perfect.