Tuesday, March 19, 2013

Song of 81 Poems, XXVI




Give beasts an emotional language:
I found an original Angel. 
'Twas a good pain, strength in cunning.

Should love say, 'Sleep through sound'?
Queen Daughter, believe in rainbows,
     Now laughter stands about, suffering.

Patience, young master.
Afraid of death, some bold king downs his drink, and says,
     "Always wrecked, how capture cramps this life!"

Delve, know that infant blue.
 Sisters fly here, talk for effect.
     What howl did serve thy young face?
If peace can give us language, make and lead her cooking.
Gee, I'll smoke at a secret live romance.
Find hard dirty nuts, and faithful fantasy.
     You never understood "Howl".

We would that you and she stands good work,
     a traitor with a whipped tongue.
So  pay to be mad with an empty glass.
I did attached by deep sentiments,
     sculpted her, assisted her health.

"Get out! Scream to my mom!"
Tell that sharp Sin my fear of cooking.
She has one last big demand,
     So stop the night.
Imagine my instrument can give peace.

Good society means a serious heart.
     Forest life bothers him, his death had been lame.
The Graces, they thought you worked.
Come, since chocolate never phones,
     the ever glorious night's psychedelic.



Song of 81 Poems:

  1   2   3   4   5   6   7   8   9
10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18
19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27
28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36
37 38 
38 40 41 42 43 44 45
46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54
55 56 57 58 59 60 61
 62 63
64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72
73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81


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