Thomasina

Your mother said, a drop of blood, does not bring death, for sun, moon, the earth, will only bring you truth, closer to your birth, neither in your stealth, nor for your good, can it mark the end, all the ones who've blessed, persuaded you to soothe, put them together first, if that makes sense, yellow sands and tidal floods, make you love the best, your house forever bursts, patched and creaked by wood, it slakes all your thirsts, before the falling dusk.