She floats in a dream,
Before she sinks under,
Carrying in her folds,
The dying cries of the Soldiers,..
Sure, the pose was a little hackneyed,
But she put a world of weariness into the
tommorrows,
And She hit that old dusty death with an ominous flare,
And left the regicide slain upon the thoughts,
In a wish of unpleasant droughts,
To make some sense of Sister Agnes's Sermon,
Slashing the cross-eyed magician's vermont,
A medley of Shakespeare's greatest monologues,,or as he put it,,
A...