Baskadia

Don’t judge a book by it’s cover, 

But flower a crooked, being a lover, 

Showering some indulging looks, with a hover, 

Of your eyelids, bidding verges, over and over, 

Lone with a coat burnt, like a bone, with no pain earned, 

Training prone, from a bored turned, to the board, where’s more vain learnt, 

From the sane minded, who’s lane binded, to lame bitted, 

When the blades lighted, the intense fights, and swords delighted, 

Blinding the brains, behind my drain, 

Beginning the cranes, to lift my mains, 

Shifting the days, to sore my fate, 

Swift ink, for fays, lowering sigh faith, 

Shy to debate, cried to hate, 

Died for a mate, yet lied to a date, 

To dare, for a share, of my first nightmare, 

When my butt, won’t care, for the worst heights flaired, 

The huts, would burst out, a thirst, of Claire,

To repair, a craved up buddy, with hairs, and wear, 

Whatever am I rhyming, I know, I ain’t the best, 

With my times, spend to rest, and limes, mended to chests, 

Mistakenly written book of rhymes by – TDS