Choose Poem by Ander Greigon

To call you when I knock on the door;
The real and the wheel of turning for:
To reach out a hand defice the tune
Oh, would you yeild these instant blare

A tame and the lame afford the bloom;
That doesn't deplore an honest groom:
What's nickity nice and pressure glare
A mighty, mighty sorrow flare

The game was not to trim the stun;
And dare not to decide to swim:
A mind was all to spare the loan
Invite to come and therefore chain

Be all the break and fintest wake;
A must merely sheal and seek:
The pace would all withgrown the scare
A tease and wiz revoke my stare

When not and you would dream a joule;
Of roundest not to flaw the howl:
A sketch to draw the less and brace
As what would deal the roughest ways

But not recall aloud the fear;
Read plays and dust to cunnest cheer:
Does fort the sway would further face
A soul to find the when and race.