Piety's Plight in Poetry
- Nov. 15, 2017, 9:01 p.m.
- |
- Public
Poison green does this grass still grow on a gloomy day in Maine;
The church bells toll and the godwits crow– still all remains the same.
A transient sleeps on the pebble beach in the grasp of death so cold.
Pray away his pain ‘cause the church bells toll; for piety, you must go.
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