No claim for phantasm deemed in in the ***** extreme.
the realness of the glory through the alluring dream.
here and there the sickness of naked eyes .
long failed on the dread of mind of many lies
the bountiful through the remaining puddle so *****.
that brings forth the sentimental parade of thirsty.
nowhere, lonesome shuddering cause the mind is deep.
no more acquiesced freely very soon, more flips.
when the blow so cold on emptied road, the harvest is so gold.
dear dainty claim of the delighted face of scold.
men in move forwarding the muses so full of illusion.
compensated so far with blinded torrid seclusion .
how many nights of dread, and how we but see not ?
if" the thought is the true" the reason is  so besot!