A SENTINEL YONDER HILLS-PART 5

hills not,lured by lucre and epicure,yet but in horror lay enshrouded,by its nauseating pantheon of froward rabidities and quarrying queasies,as they stench, At quixotic and tacky seasons,reasons are stale, Pathos,pathos,is it worth bathos like that,that i earnestly plunge to pull the trigger,in the desolate road none before ever travelled and barely fizzle out like streak of lightning and meteor,thrashed by bandwagon jump,envisoned by i a hermit,a recluse,hibernating in this numb of vitriolic plow?And rabidly played with my drudgery of dreamyard pluck'd,not mangled by wiles of gregarious chants in this betternoire of earthly shroud?And in this force majeure,my kiths and kinsman,sentinel sees yonder hills,As like the twinkling of an eye,barndoor hit,my neplus ulstra,to sigh me relief in this pessimic clone as a desperado,O sentinel methinks as my kinsman,my innate sibbling,a twain of innermost rumblings of my apparition,to thy heels,i succumb be,seeking out thy groove of eleemysynery,that the magical winces,