by Rowan Blair Colver
The dogged wretch from least to none
Survived a notch since came undone
T'ward the spill of creeping knocks
Between a sour swell of lurid locks
Given pace in haste to fall within
Leering fingers crinkle inward in
Veering forward glance and coat
Instills without such as false hope
Ghast and gasp down hollows mire
Boaring nooks from humble fire
Harrowing faith and thirst from toil
Jesting feigns with yester's spoil
Rowan Blair Colver