Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
Death Pities
Oh fair without yet pitch within
Beauties outer cover hides the rot.
The skin pale so soft to touch, is ice.
The eyes deep, hold no warmth.
The rosy lips carmen red, smile
But it never reaches the soul.
For that you have sold too cheaply.
You are all for outward show, sick,
An empty vessel that holds no joy.
Your honeyed words cloy and poison
Corrupt the air and blacken the rose.
Death pities but cannot touch,
For you are already dead.
poem
by
Paul Brookes
solid border
dashed border
dotted border
double border
groove border
ridge border
inset border
outset border
no border
blue
green
red
purple
cyan
gold
silver
black