Yesteryears' Greene Shawl.
The Captain is into cutleries still rumoured onshore;
Oh no;
Yesterday's surrealist.
Beneath relinquished patterns of speech and the jocular poles fold apiece.
On Snow white,platoon's desks and a score or so,sleight;
The bluntness in elbows slighted as of that stunted tilt in burnt coach edges;
Hallowing her much formidable stride;
Should it come solely in the adage of the Fishnet;
The bird of same feathers or the knave for pearly moorings;
Ticktock,Hickory's dock;
What reprisals surpass these surpluses of quantum indictments?
Up on turned tables toppling in fate's avowal;
Cheeses,surprises...
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