Poem Title: Lost Grave

Sweat slowly drips within the walls of sheath;
Axed by blemish stealth of long epitaph;
Walking into dawn of hopeful delight;
The closing paths springs with thorns;
A loot a route, we searched in sooth!

Into dusk our lampshades, swivels out a blurred sight;
Tints of sprints across the floral tents;
Falling leaves sprays over sloppy paths;
We seek what we would wish not,
A loot a route, we searched in sooth!