an akin, crimsonshaded, thine Männlein whom walks, in flower fields of sunnysided, uppeth of meadows, reddish glay over the fabric of barefoot felt grass.
an akin Männlein, sherry of hope, lost in a positive o,
of tender disorientation,
a diving swim, into the ocean of flora.
as then cometh the blue rain, nutrition of soil.
thee Earth-Mother whom weeps the Magnifique rays of joyful tears,
cleansing our rooted hair of darkest, green leaves.
our happiness at ease, at rest, the Männlein guideth the path in plural lonliness.
aesthety' of sorrow, saddened laugh, glossing over us, as I,
as me, myself and we, as a post raincloud rainbow.
. . . beauty be christa, crystalled thy castle, her and herself. in our notioned, discovered a chrestomathy, in fairy dust the Männlein bathes,
for the blind dea as a hearts passage.
the dea, be love, being compassion, companionated, traveled passenger alongside, the christa of vision, no matter the darkness eternal.
Männleins, a plural loneliness, being happy, and to a'no less,
nevertheless, and to a'no matter, shall be a metamorphism, into bonded singularity of two. never to become the dark, on a hill topped meadow field.
eternity being Doe, the deer, a doubled horn in a forest, of no seareeds, no labyrinth of trees, a clear flower grass rag over a pure, moist soil, a livelyhood mud that is no longer faced darkened black.
the Männlein walketh as two, together as ever, the red ray of fire, the meadow ray of soil, turned to our sun, the blind dea of the Earth-Mother,
christa be Doe, a deer, we have seen the creation in words, phonetic.
as we follow time, follow a nature, an adornment, shall we be as the Männlein?
a mankind? an akin kind of human? our blind dea as compassion, an'n twey we have met, we shall, we may... we can be, must be the apostle of the deer, our spirit a Doe.
The Männlein wanderer in a spring, atop the mountained hill, he be a hillflower itself, red as with Agape, deepeth his labyrinth'd heartcorner . . .
so'th we have helped them found, an akin man'nkin, the allcreation, of dearest christa. so'th we have walked, where they have walked, in a sunnysided uppeth, yellowjacket meadows the field, barefooted on in grassy, wet soil, walked, along. as an Ardor of tin.
