I guess I caught her,by the hook;
She hung lowly on crux to my reef;
That's crooked Scion and his conglomerate Butler,then Potato and Marge.
Yet beforehand I had concurred if instinct propelled her Schizophrenia.
Tell me Now how would you clothe of your Muses for summer's day;
What bland of logic do you have for the classes;
What concedes exactly with the ascriptive blend in the coincidence of infused repertoires;
Would you ever read Houses as Donkeys?
I don't know who I really am dearly beloved,since I've gotten Black,I've gotten White instead.
I writhe with the writer who contends,I have this commitment to accentuate your passions,
As of kindling the goose species with charisma hails much of my proliferation.Like Hag,im Swan he says;
Clothed with lint and sauntering;
Towards snow capping that she is;
Tiptoed over these stumps for her children,
Chopped down mushrooms on the shoulder's width and that's a funny thing,isn't it?
She was the behest bird of Pencil Mania,which would look up to the reservoir for its Anatolia.Though never acknowledging a visit to the Somme;
Gautier was the northern regalia from how she assembled the organza,was wrapped up in contemplation over Assyria. Throughout she's been southerly for the caustic placement,thorough sessions via the Accordion,and on value on ethic they see ah;