Seed buried beneath the soil,
Tend often in anticipated toil;
Yet how plants bud and blossom
Is above my cultivated wisdom.

Though life is a maze and mystery,
I've taken in my hand my destiny
Beholding it with faith's steady eye
Through weather foul and fair.

Fell.

But I've climbed my way
               back
to the summit.

Her presence is smelling
on the
sheet of my being.

Zaftig ******* droop . . . ***** becomes
flaccid . . .
dark hair turns grey.

At times I am verily weary to the bone,
Confining my soul in a self-made cocoon
By shutting out the world from my heart
As my mind meanders speedily tween
The hills of despair thru' rueful spleen--
There was a country ere things fell apart.


Pining for the wonder wand of Bro. Jero,
Our hopes have turned to zero--
Hit by the arrow of God--ha, penkelemesi!
Who can now this nation's nemesis remedy?

Walking in the Spirit, copping
a feel
of the flesh.

Birth is by two ways:
labour and lancet.
Nope,--three.