were there any more beautiful a thing as a tree, full of life and luxury, there were no more of metaphors, cause in the case of worldly wars, we'd all been banished, to the floor, or underneath, the ridden core, the core of effervescent light, that place where each of us doth fight, and rage about those bidden nights, though hid from us, the darkest night,
and counting all the blessed rights, we flount and foundered every bite, the morsels every one it came, through forces of a nature's maim, the wounded eye then did beseech, and wandered by, alone did reach, the pale into a sauntered creek, oh winds will howl and moons will teach, but only from, the wildest beach!
©danjor
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