unmanicured

The fountain of youth is of no use to the blind
and we’ll find hindsight is a bitch. She’ll snarl
and she’ll nip and she’ll catch the thundering
whip and she’ll tear down the walls with an
unmanicured hand. Blow out your chest but
make way while it’s best as she’s coming and
the Earth is her conquest. The shoe is on a
foot; a lioness paw, with it swinging in might
to the sound of a roar, that will move such
weight you’ll be nostalgic.