Bedraggled angels blethered
Across Eleven Acres
As belling from the boneyard
Rangled round the orchard
Her fingernails a-ripped
From hauling clay-filled fists
Out of the Riddle's edges
For pots with happy voices
Consumed with twanketen
Only eased by scratching
Wisp-words slim as thistles
Or sickly chicken whistles
Seen an I a childhood
Of quartere'il and wormwood
Of not-friends running nowhere
Of vog a-veiling elsewhere
Till in the vaulted barn
Queer-lit by dummet zun
She knew herself a vessel
Fit for a different wordle
Where footsteps must be lone
And barefoot upon stones
And the northwind's ever-host
Giving edges to the ghosts
Seen an I a childhood
Of quartere'il and wormwood
Of not-friends running nowhere
Of vog a-veiling elsewhere
Of mother's voice not calling
Of corrugated iron
Of devil's birds and whiskey
Of chilver hogs and fleecy
And nuts I could not reapy
And nuts I could not reapy
Paroles2Chansons dispose d’un accord de licence de paroles de chansons avec la Société des Editeurs et Auteurs de Musique (SEAM)
