Our Pleas Are Lullabies

Amidst our thole, our throbbing hymns tuned,
clamorous yet shushed by their lugholes
Of all the Berceuse we had once s'ng
Ti's the most, is all dismal

On landing, the first note
to the black-hearted Partisans
forged in Trammels, gripped not to fall betwixt
penury and humdrum

The second note,
from it, clasp'd a Riddling Reposte of Remedy
to an ailing authority, to the fiend of friends
who hath sent myriads to Belize

My last note,
is a drafted one
let it not be affixed as a trinity
,,,,,,, drench me in peril