My Sonnets, Poems and Quotes

September 7, 2024

7:30 am

Fern is the power of grief, from which the branch grows fine and delightful to ones eye.

My fern dwindles down into thy brownish color.

To find that a red stain leaks in one's branch.

Blood it is! exclaims the sad couple who in which finds this fine fern something called death.

Lurking within this hellish hole

My grievances have been tainted as their words.