lost in fog but want of wanting
rescue from e’er being found
drinking vapors hanging haunting
creeping crossing puddled ground
icy pole by icy pole
pipered by the sighing squalls
seasoned with the scent o’ shoals
naught… & in naught is all
tho i know this fog will stop
till my time o’ dice we’re locked
ye olde curiosity shop
¿Liked it? ¡Take a second to support this idiot on Patreon!
