A Sonnet to the Goddess Dea Tacita [Poem] by Fred LaManna


Motionless we are saved by the haunting of the quiet very loud proud sounds
They notice how much pertains to the climate as it were failing to overthrow
The metropolitan is an area well unknown to the skinniest of limbs they are kind
The trees with a passion keeping to the mildest sauces here contrast rounds
Noting how she ails the frosty composure is limited to each failed hard blow
Reaching for a standard not accomplished it hardens the softer part of the mind

Pouring elements of the cheeriest fountains this has her dispelling the ample
Crosses are hereby noted to saintly morose frosty pale ales are of a spicy kind
To gather the parts of the each of the very tightest of those pants are a true victim
Must we behave with the career of a boasting harped on tall giggling satisfied sample
What happens to the most repelled feast as it fastens to the taunting lines do bind
Across the spatial marks she can reach to bleed out the mounting enemy’s spectrum

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