virusq

And like the cat I have nine times to die. This is Number Three. What a trash To annihilate each decade. Even amidst fierce flames The golden lotus can be planted, So let the mystified crowds begin amassing! Again she will rise like a climbing rose, Lady Lazarus, lifted from soil, decomposed But lifted, living, sepulcher sprung; she cries- I have risen again, once in every ten! Thrusting upon the crowd a demure smile, Reminding them with coy cast of amber eye: And like a cat I have nine times to die. Blame not her tempest-mind for the tragedy, For amidst those flames of madness and insecurity Her grave-bloom yet sprouts its