How can they get the point of how a world
Amid the gloom, there, on the pole, stands black
How can they get the point of how a world
Bronze the sky, with no
Covering the land—
The face of a Quos ego),
But when, on the timepieces that we call
The weight of being born into exile is lifted.
A pallid yellow lingers
Right, and appears from here to be overcome
on their own little seat cushions, wearing soft caps
Dim, and die tonight?
Late February, and the air's so balmy
Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines,
Lucky the bell—still full and deep of throat,
II. Quest and Conquest
Late February, and the air's so balmy
In realms of dingy gloom and deep crevasse
To pick up even the quickening of wind
Amid the gloom, there, on the pole, stands black
How can they get the point of how a world
Bronze the sky, with no
Covering the land—
The face of a Quos ego),
But when, on the timepieces that we call
The weight of being born into exile is lifted.
A pallid yellow lingers
Right, and appears from here to be overcome
on their own little seat cushions, wearing soft caps
Dim, and die tonight?
Late February, and the air's so balmy
Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines,
Lucky the bell—still full and deep of throat,
II. Quest and Conquest
Late February, and the air's so balmy
In realms of dingy gloom and deep crevasse
To pick up even the quickening of wind
No comments:
Post a Comment