I Do Poem by (TPAC) Alexander Coppedge

My stories, written by a per say loud in harks, convey the truth of an eerie adventure, scribbled down its view by marks, states of life inked, dangling true reality; shown its fault: barks of brown leaves.

These fresh ideas, done all in clear conceptions being attempted in my mind's workshop, having thoughts, they would win, set for top target; all go below, got low review fact to stop: the bad.

A river flow suggestions it curls, by my station, displays its glittering rays, rippling waves to glow rolling light crystals, seen to throw bold ads for a fresh job: an invitation this puts news.

My other job I do, finding at night, reviewing each new theory, writing notes of its aids few viewpoints, protecting this good it's the right thing, pausing a knight to face evil: cut wickedness.

Human affairs, striking each leaf that taunts, sounds a toot, trumpet a horn's hoot, aims to shoot at fears its bent injustice; eliminates that evil for good destroying: stop horrors a goal.

I treat my station, clear the outer borders, along its branches, and test for the best condition to grow seeds I have, blackened soil sunk in: containing a nest high.

One leaf wise note tingles, giving a gift, it's for.my other brother, thinking of those said conceptions, off this limb, it is no bother; the former refreshes those decisions: reviving it is Mother Nature.

The wind gusts this cloud's face formed, peering back to reply, release from the mouth, words airing, out of the lips, it is to imply this to me; soon falling errors will comply: coming of Spring.