These are lovely things we leave behind collecting dust, and careful-tucked aside the gilded consternation of that average working class, so relative in reason the right and intent to life and Love for life for the well-informed 'n disillusioned in the end, are far too free Who in their places must have made conceivably but never be-forecasted: a smothered liberty They are alleged-to, the wakeful populace who with no worldly heart can swear off blinking, for they dare not sleep a wink, who surely have not dreamt, as neither could they slumber through another summer’s sweet demise the alibi It is silhouetted sterile human things— What stands clustered on a politan old hill that infinitely sighs, yet does not speak, hence tells no lies
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
1/16/2021 10:52:41 PM # 1.0.0.396