Won't pretend to be sterile,
As the fragile of me steeps within
Weathering rains, leathery pains,
Make it tight to digest the within.
My well as a wading tide
Holds moons that channel my deep
Stirring aroar, unto a thundery shore
Are the prophecies we have yet to weep
The understood has rarely been played
But by the few who have become well famed
And yet the glimpse is in the weak
An ultimate of the well claimed dame.
Then
"Let her speak and cry, and bemoan to the world as she would
For she has been wronged and cries out to Mom, the Goddess of all Motherhood."
This is me,
Never deep,as yet tho never narrow
I arrive the shadow of all game
A stirring flame; a rivalrie's pain
Keeps the dark a flame
Mysteries deep
Like the willowy creek
As the vein of her pulse runs through
Never a pain, nor a gain,
If there's never a gamble to do.
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