Rotten, fallen and forgotten Misjudged Bulk,I sulk to what could of been a glistening sheen in a heard of nettles, in a vast wood who failed to clutch, onto your goods I timed your pace your benign haste I lept out, and got a taste But those prickles denied me, my clutch didn’t guide me ephemeral in the physical, colossal in the mental. You will always remain there. As a spec on my thorn.