In the dungeon, tracing bones again.
With this pen.
This will end.
I just don’t know when.
Special lenses to help me sleep
Yet here I sit, and weep
What I’d give for these weary feet to be dancing in the street
Darkness invades my mind
Stillness in bones and in rhymes
There are no shadows in a room of this kind
And I have broken you from the inside
A traveller’s wife has no time
Just keep telling the world we’re fine
Getting better like aging wine
Softly falls a false lash from my eye
With a wish and a breath
Not ready for death
Where is my poet, picturesque
I promise, bones, soon we will rest