Come on home. The poppies are all grown knee-deep by now.
Blossoms all have fallen, and the pollen ruins the plow.
Peonies nod in the breeze,
And as they wetly bow
With hydrocephalitic listlessness,
Ants mop up their brow.

And everything with wings is restless, aimless, drunk and dour;
Butterflies and birds collide at hot, ungodly hours.
My clay-colored motherlessness rangily reclines
Come on home, now! All my bones are dolorous with vines.


Don’t you just love Joanna Newsom. Oh and I’m not going to apologise the constant Newsom post in my blog. The literary devices are just so beautiful. That’s one reason why I studies literature;to appreciate all these works of art.


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