GOLDEN
Golden, he—not knowing is his cruelty,
Golden, he—not knowing is his cruelty,
For
garden paths grow thistles ever thick.
And
so, you see, his glorious effigy
Must
give rise to inquiry romantic.
Certainly,
he may forever lonesome be;
Yes,
one can hopeless hope for jealous antics.
By decree,
one’s whims engage in prophecy—
Fabricate
lush fancies for the frantic.
Complicit in simplicity, his web elicits empathy,
Complicit in simplicity, his web elicits empathy,
Solicits
the illicit with its sorcery.
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