Curious these dogs how they accompany me, crying the tears of carrion for the bedridden of Bedlam. I ask them What is flesh if not armour for the soul? all they tell me is in these days of heat nobody will walk thro' the fire except angels, whose shapes will be clouds accross the morning sun.
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Hi Marc you know of me from poetry cove, which I will rejoin soon. I like this poems expression of inner torment without being too dour. If printed elsewhere it needs the title as a header.