Friday, October 23, 2015

The Fare A Lawns Oft Tin A Sawn It



Whoa is this sole desire to Heel the ride of horse to saddle,
thou girth of center belt to harp be thy gut to speak,
in that brush of scours fear does the stones grant tip,
width of bell the skull of sync How is thy charge to swamp?

In tile of feet Sands spoke seat Ocean on the Waves of wall,
skidding through the Times sewn ball Shell the tree be lagoons branch,
creek Up gone to rivers strum Pebbles on the Henge,
porcelain Eyes of brows Raised bye for Tuna lane.

Shallow sentence life on rein Directions compass Quatrain,
is each a lay of quiet state Tell thy Verse in sump or Vein,
paints on shown this coat of bloom In asking trust for Frame,
quest be long dust past thee song leaves Season ought in Crows.

Shackled with a hugging Text I scrabble heard to Vista,
tubs of Troughs the human cost Pricing pants while Albatross`d,
beautiful lens seeing blends from Cent to Scene on bakers hood,
say to piece the boots & Pre-ist that knobs are traveling formal Tides.


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