Let us shutter at she who’s tormented:
Her body, let’s freeze, her sentiments, let’s braid.
For she’s cried aloud and not repented-
She is sunless- we must steal her shade!
That voice of anguish- what gruesome chorus,
For one whose thoughts we ought best disavow,
Lord, does she notice that earth’s not porous-
Now here is inertia, let us kowtow!
O, to be born we must lack forethought,
We put on dress and shove stone in pocket,
Better to drown than to be so distraught,
Worse to lose it and better to lock it.
Lacquer my eyes shut- I do lack varnish,
Sew my mouth tight and make me your garnish.
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