By Charlotte Praecox Regina
After dappled upon a golden bed,
& pillowed by the dusky hills.
Still now browned, and glowing,
Covered by Daylight's coppered lips.
They have left quite the outshine
To the pale and even Sister, who,
In the wheel of Her transit, sweeps
The shattered sixty seconds of a Sun
Beam through occlusion, like the
Shards of a sugared coffee cup, to
The curb.
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To the Reader: Thank you for visiting our narration device. Your advice and opinions count, so please be honest-- brutally honest. The more we muck-it-up, the bigger our Artist Welfare cheques, and we have to fill multiple gobs of many who have not reached legal, nor legitimate, majority, and pay off several vicious, ruinous harpies who trained the brood to come at us with little bastinados. Chillens' hongry! The more you say we suck, the more secure our Entitlements-- hopefully they will pay us to not produce "Aht" at all.