Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
Words Are Mine
Blood was in season,
on your hands.
A staged encounter
mauling the clouds.
Into a hare, you put the lead
with a roar of gun
and sun wants his share.
Beneath the honours
lies the guilt
of a ravaged moon.
I will not walk again
on the bristles of power.
Uncanny love lies in state.
poem
by
Satish Verma
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