WORDLE #192

For Sunday Whirl:

 

AIR

 

Couldn't help yourself, could you?
In the panic that ensued
you and a thousand others
who thought they had room to talk
discovered there was no choice
 Couldn't believe our own eyes...
As heat became more like burn
they shed not a drop of sweat
always believing he would
perform a miracle, man
and, boy, did it get them high
when she said the snag was fixed

WORDLE #190

For Sunday Whirl

FORGIVE THEM

When locked in chains that enflame

You point the finger of blame

And it's no strain to sustain
Your deranged haze of hatred

Feign regret through the filet
To the cape clad clergyman

A traipse through your secret cave
In exchange for his silence