A terrible poem

Celsh

I wrote a terrible poem today I felt I needed to share.

The strands of prophecy hang in the sky,
Renewed each day with the morning dew.
Heralding the coming of the one from above,
and on that day bellows will be heard.
The chosen one -- whether a man woman or child,
their cries will be heard from everywhere in the domain.

I call it "There's still a spider living in our shower."

Thrax

@cola

cola

Nope