Rising Marshes
Choking on the excessive vapours Of our abandoned debauchery Your stunted shoots flail awkwardly In artificial chambers of soil and sedge. Your weathered hands Fly
marshes
"this is sixth form poetry, not Keats or Yeats"
Choking on the excessive vapours Of our abandoned debauchery Your stunted shoots flail awkwardly In artificial chambers of soil and sedge. Your weathered hands Fly