SONNET 83

Sonnet-83- For aught i know,this rot doth remorselessly oversway metropolis nonchallance,for never,an adamantine whippersnipper ever unwhimly holocausting its time,wallop to spare this elongated fritter,to trajectory of the ambiguous seasons'ploy and confounds himself faraway from its vernal: What recto and verso flung upon the legible lectern did bid him versify remorse as tactile to moult? Sap checkered annals with frosty eyes and lutarious heels,quite a dumbfound,Unmitigate's reproach,blanketed anomie's ubiquitous peddlings,Then were the seasons'plough hazily plowed, A prisoner of time,not much less a prisoner of conscience,an auguri'd prisoner of war,pent up behind gaol of an auriferous and non-auriferous modusviviendi,An augment'd effect and unrelentless anomie were fastened to its trite, Nor it tinkers,nor no tilt whatsoever what it plow'd,

But then unfair flowers still distill'd they with its ambivalence and aunt sallies all seasons'niggard plow and melt,Lease but not this vile and their fritter banks of assays and auction'd angst that revels no more atypical their rancour avalanche still not avaunt adorns st.blues queer street unthaw'd.