by Mousen » 10/25/2010 1:41 PM
(Pfft. Was that made for me or what? )
And we travel to the devil's den,
Where to moonraths grow,
Hand in head, head in hand,
Pumkin from the start.
Duplicates of dorringlots
Faery-fae and idleclots,
They dance around the mushrooms,
Toadstools and their kin.
For 'tis Hallow's Eve.
A wicked kind of day.
The moonwraths and Estletods,
They tremble in thy wake.
And the sad swamps,
The mud puddle bogs,
They too, writhe in fear.
The idle little bones,
And the lazy Haresnap too,
Though dark tales,
And weather foul,
They stand just as strong.
For 'tis Hallow's Eve.
A wicked kind of day.
The moonwraths and Estletods,
They tremble in thy wake.
Mousen say's tell me what you think of my poem. D8< (XDD;; )
We’re all hysterical & going nowhere together.
C’mon rapture. Let’s go bedazzling.
Nothing gets futured without its own spitshine
& I’m already not not not not not not miraculous.