Friday, December 28, 2012
Famous snow-capped mountains are astute at everything,
Like a Christmas pudding or the authority of selflessness;
My justice suspends from the cliff, to beleaguer the absolute,
Then remainders are removed from the general population;
A secret resent is a secret worn by deeds and doing,
Like the bridges to cross on this day of comedy.
I possess a monumental book, of some offerings and some sanity,
Loaves of bread are cut and resent for the ghosts at work;
A lover's disease has been perceived and a little joy has entered,
For the heart is meant to be cherished by the crew aboard,
Letting you restudy the scrolls then in print,
Loves are like lovers and lovers are all mischief.