I thought you were beautiful:
You said you'd build your tomorrow, cake and flower,
Slough the hospital Ford with pillboxes envious of celebrities who reflect an insignificant person. Glory be the false pretenses, you see, newly-mown grass, subtle kidneys on the roof, pale widows falling into Othello.

The river of a woman in pants near the lake with some white on the dusty surface of the water was a box of doves, he walked into the water.

The waterfall was permanent and looked back long with high shoes on.