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The CatThe CatThe Cat
Lithe and dark, Away from prey, Long dead stark. Be proud, he may?
Inwardly, he smiles, As he thinks of the pounce, And walks the miles, and starts to flounce.
At home, he is a calm, And genteel pet, That lies on leaves of palm, and never gets wet.
At night, a hunter he is, Pouncing at poor, and innocent mouses, hiding on the shore.
by ~tatoue
The dying soldierOver fields of blood, Are sounds of war, Above the mud, And heard from afar.The dying soldier
Cries of death, In the bog, With sword from sheath, Ringing muted in the fog.
There he lies, Upon the earth, As he dies, A man from birth.
He starts to choke, His skull is chipped, His legs are broke, His throat is ripped.
He walked in honor, But now he lies, And thinks of her, As he dies.
Across a nearby fǰord, a man's victory hoot, is quieted by his lord, with poisoned fruit.
T
by ~tatoue
Agh, My Arm??by ~tatoue
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Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?
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Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?
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Still looking for that rainbow ...........
It's le crazy Kirstin Hedwig person commenting on your profile!
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Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?
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