December’s creed

She gripped chalice with rasping power

Her slender hands wished sad forlorn goodbye

To the woes she had raised but to shower

The woes of saints betrothed to eye


Of many a calamitous hour’s sire

As she would pick the solemn reed

And to worship soul out of mire

See thy image in morning prayer’s greed


She consumed the half-fated potion

Her image distorts the mirror

Wherever she looks feel motion

The sanctimony of ground nearer


Where she stood beyond fissure or fountain

And the dark murky of love’s seed

Of tinctured medicines she mercurially attain

Aspire thousand Harakiris soul need


And finally she seeks

Potion as December’s creed dose

While she silently wept and reeks

Of temperature as it arose



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