E’en as at school, from the darkness of last row,
Whereon our names I carved in silent woe,
Now hail yet falls ‘pon my poor, weary bield,
And e’en blank pages bear thy ghost unseal’d.
Tetrameter Thirty-six
By
By
E’en as at school, from the darkness of last row,
Whereon our names I carved in silent woe,
Now hail yet falls ‘pon my poor, weary bield,
And e’en blank pages bear thy ghost unseal’d.
mvrcodelrio.com 
Lascia un commento