'tis with these wondering charms
of wuthering blossoms
eventually raising a brow
of what all of this means
if not for poems of lingering length
I'd awake of fullest strength
Speak! Speak to me of Virtue
and behold! The name is gone
and replaced by none other
but the very essence of my sad
oh! my eye keeps on lurking
another way
I hide and sleep in bushes so sincere
they would be mere bushes no more
and speak to me of rhyme
I can't spell Just
(the way it must)
I shall now leave
and go on to beheeve
another word my dictionary
as of yet has not revealed
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