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• (edited )
Fallen

Lest thoughts be left lingering, be it cleft or lost, Cut off your probing finger, Bitten by the the Frost.

The Leaves are Brown and Falling, They crackle as they blow, Paper thin and Autumnal, A Precursor to N'ver Ending Snow,

My mind ain't right, And this sorrowful night, Wet grey clouds fill my sky, Begging me Tomorrow morning To sleep in and not try

Look forward to the terror, and let the horror be felt last, I am a simple poet, A creature of years long past.

Lest thoughts be left lingering, be it cleft or lost, Cut off your probing finger, Bitten by the the Frost. The Leaves are Brown and Falling, They crackle as they blow, Paper thin and Autumnal, A Precursor to N'ver Ending Snow, My mind ain't right, And this sorrowful night, Wet grey clouds fill my sky, Begging me Tomorrow morning To sleep in and not try Look forward to the terror, and let the horror be felt last, I am a simple poet, A creature of years long past.
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[–] • 2 pts

I've asked you to read on several occasions, but you seem to have an aversion to it.

[–] • 0 pt

Why the Frenchman wears his arm in a sling

Is this a riddle I have not answered?

[–] • 2 pts

Indeed. More of a statement really. And I'm afraid I botched that title as well. It should read "Why the little Frenchman wears his arm in a sling". Sorry, it's been a decade or two since I last read either of them...

[–] • 0 pt