13/07/2026
Nursing Her
Her essence is as wild as columns of smoke
She has royal liter with sharp teeth of might
Perfume with metalmental and powder stone
To guard her against the terrors of the night
She made it from the secret trees of the earth
Decorations of purple valor of emblems of gold
Behind her veil her hair in flocks of goats mirth
Flowing as if to escape from new shone fold
Despair like a spirit departs from a kicking horse
Under oath to capture a heart with a glance of a peep
Her vine sprouts thorns doubt from an empty hurse
Her mouth burst with wine on the lips of those asleep
Queens and concubines rise early to the vineyard
An exclusive devotion unyielding yearly as the graveyard
July 8th 2026 Between the lines
