Maw

A Pyre’s meant for burning
And that’s just what she’ll do
There was nothing we could do.

The Mead abets the Maw
And writes its sentence out
There was nothing I could do.

Fingers fault the loom
Dancers to the blade
There was nothing they could do.

A briquette diaphragm
Drawn taught against the breeze
There was nothing you could do.