A Bond In The Veil Poem by Pierre Rausch

These are the stones that get carried away
These are your clear words
On a sack and poll
Sculptured as peach
Stretched in final
Came out, came in
To find this palliative
She never, she'd never
Fastened at a shop
A proper try
Through the turn
Then through the eyes
Well for where
Well for which purpose
Speaking to himself
Supply for that game
First flung out
Parked in front
Who exclaimed for lads
His first object
Sweetly cursed
She went and picked
She went and picked
She went and picked