A Song Of Molly Owen
T’was where I was standing, with Molly wavin’.
With pub fire calling, its warmth tempting all in, Molly, through the rain she yet led.
Neurotaclismic chasmmind find pain in memorandemonia
Alit along the current air did fall, in feath’ry glide, a-whilst my coffee waits, a crow.
In screeching seagull song sounds out senescent afternoon.