🍁🌹🪔

Ho Ho Ho, Joyous Kyiv (Cardhouse)

We were well for our lantern At business that May And when to our sun return For the forty ninth parallel And the lorry day as mount Must be seen as we review And early as war And a bees’ nest to extend There was a basis to our withdrawal As we shot at the moose for our hunt And the triage guessed the next nurse To stay for this rose

I in beige For the early star Seemed to be in his forties And afraid of his uncle And a notch in his cape For French and Swiss In the amount of an unreserved- A madrigal on waiver It was Hargsburgh and early hospital And standing on his mother And lost as a flower Be sweet by the dawn

Forty nuts to the shawl invega by carousel Striding to meet the aftermath And my bosom elect to the fourteen With ryeing shun-math Elected to Behemoth Way We were Kim Jong Uhl Mattresses for the corpse And standing in deep brothers For the return of my hair to the undeep With brightest and biggest regret Of apples and spinach in bright green For the British who kept to appear On nine standing peacocks who appraised our dew In the aftermath of one PDF A puzzling layer by spect In hencock and a noticed war I stood by for time And of course a cousin Of the able and betrayed In fortune’s win Bespeckled for the underclass Of every nine captain’s war Prowess for the Queen’s house And every mark of undress

These were on our knees The Duke who cracked a whip While the early cross was hers And a fortune for Carcross So the fortune is mine My only so untold I best behave There is a tree in the yard And it’s time to be seen In a high pod For the flight of Heaven In such reward As the hearse lapped at my own In such a way as to keep up I was the badass with Henry Morgan But the smallest of hurts between In gliding down to the desk job

Such mistake is an unknown jab And I miss you, My airstep To be able to surround that lens And pick up our dues

There off of course Was the end of war And it takes you off To whatever numbers were best And to the best be you I was made a best of the sun To sureness of the one we redeemed In sweet summer’s nakedness

In her own special town I keep a Communion in view For the express expulsion of war And the honestness of our hope In a Cornish hearse There was heartness in the hour, and to our love In deepest occupied French land For the Turhouse and Whitney’s cape In regret to my own since they deported The slicked up essence of Beograd

In the Tennessee win, Of retort the geese who fly Heaven, by the backhand of our normal In the unction by uncertainty And laying blocks by which chemistry, And which varnish to passerby So let’s be certain Of this clear thing of yesterday now It was Zak’s year, And a wheezing low For all that war, And in a wheelchair now I will wait for sorrow’s front esteem And crack the blinds for serotonin I best be seen In the privileged moon Aching for Chinese poem So that six across Would be Christmas

Intoning that Chicago had a man Sizzling our broccoli for the best of repay And chucking out the Iranian quran While sleeping off the war

A forgotten sister For the Irish Catholic of early yesteryear For repense and nothing lovely on the way But the Breadhouse was muted only through The upkeep of every bake- Baking enough For the thrive and happenstance that hear us now, In the rough, For Beautiful Ukraine