October 23, 2017

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM'S DIARY SONNETS Part One

THE SPRING.The spring that springs from dusk to your morn,The fibre prettily,unfolding your intricate hewn,Are not the fret of gravy train,not lasting golden fleece:You are fed with straw,a fire that the throng lightens,The time grew season in its reminiscences,of you,in good morn,the noose greased:As the spring rose,multiplying your providences,my time was ground baiting,brisky behind the time,of education And extinction,Oh,golden morn for your headwind,your tongue,your feet,O breath,your life ,your anchor,your sheath,your tremor,Breath I treasure made with the spirit and soul,my bulwark and a beacon light of the speeding vehicles;Heartbeat taught you a lesson of passing wind:You Knew of the ephemeral passage from its vanity.

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