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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 to 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