Ode to Dew (dadaist inspired)
An orchid paled and pruned by a raw southern tongue.
(dire be) The flowers veins as ripe as a grapevines, snipped
by Silt, a haloed boy who sought war.
To the north crained a triumph,
fought amongst insect and cobweb (the cell and sin).
Where Twine, an infant, weeped a pheromoneic symphony
and there, in the pushes of battle, Fennel and Tin dwaled!
Wanting the sealess fatalities to end.
After the moon had dizzied
with the passage of time,
after the mossy shores had stitched,
the war collapsed.
Proving to breathless;
A rhyme is better than a pale grasp.