At first a low hint, a whiff,
Noticeable but not noteworthy.
Displeasure being too strong a sensation.
It lingers on, this very same scent,
But gains memento somehow,
Beginning to stink,
As the nose begins to hold,
And scour for its whereabouts.
The stench now reeks,
Unbearable, this same low hint.
Intensified by constant affinity,
Escape from it a necessity.
Raw and red,
Nearly burnt by the scrub,
And new as the daisies,
MADDENING! That foul stench persists.
For hidden inside and away from view,
Dead bones are wasting away,
Emitting a reek from behind the walls;
A stifling past,
Of that there is no escape.