Under a stomach band as chest armour, how many are there, iron plates.
For her curled hairs, to match colours, to make vain efforts.
To be spilt open the belly, to be told by a toad, an oracle is.
Because of no dust, too much time on their hands have, at the third “Tori no ichi”.
On the noon in winter, a clock has stopped, six hours it has been.