The feckless flacks of fancy

The feckless flacks of fancy deride
Noon for                     its harrumptious
Debacle of importune proportions

As it makes its way to the mulberry
Bushes                       carrying forth the
Luminous tentacla of lugubrious depth

But that is just the beginning of fancy
Or is it?                    Much depends on
The sweet little grapes of troth dumbing

Down whatever it means, whatever
It means,                    whatever it means
Since tomorrow is linked with this and this.

This entry was posted in Poetry.

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