Finnish Maiden

Are tattered skirts lady's fate. 
The journey on the earth passes through the 
many kinds of terrain. 
Times narrower all the time here goes. 
Anxiety clamp grip throttling 
life gets. Finnish Maiden sadly 
is in tomorrow, secretly corner of the eye 
stream of tears breaking free again. 
Tomorrow the madness blows 
whistle like the willow tree. 

I am a writer for a moment I close my ears, 
until the story of groaning 
do to you. Today morning hobble 
toward the day side, and heat Finnish pulp 
in a pant, and I need a summer shirt. 
Shirt is a picture of the anchor, 
and I hope it better to keep 
in this life at this moment on. 
I'm breaking too much of their own ideas, 
and the heat in my ear choked 
drown in my dreams.