Lest your savage jest
break a breast of honour,
take this, sylph-iced cup,
spirit of soured humour
in prescience,
as testament of dour honesty.
Lichwort finds its own niche.
Cracks; a frugal smile,
lodged between stronghold
and ceaseless sea strife.
edit 20.06.09

Comments
boromir | June 18, 2009 - 20:52
Liked it. Sounds like something you remember from a previous incarnation...
lenchenelf | June 18, 2009 - 22:38
Thanks, just doodling :-) atb Lena