The wind had a name,
History for an age.
An attempt to be red,
A singing liquid overflows.

The flowers were all bricks,
And, all petals were like stones,
The pride of ecstasy-
Jumped on the ashes of time.

The memory of reason is dead,
The liver can turn milk into wine,
The seriousness of a conception is a lie,
A butter is nothing but disdain.

The neglect of mobility is fresh,
A team spirit, no more, no less.

The concern for such a-
stupidity is predicted to burn,
A method, as good as this,
can a turn a word into a gun.

An obtuse flash---------