PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS'DIARY.SONNET-127

Then how,when arts calls them to motherwit resist,What gravitating bogstandard,canst thou ruminate,thy redundant spares must be imbroiled,Which when ignition thrust,acidulous sands cremat'd,From off a pedest whose gravamen sunnyside rework'd,a bounteous tales from a dark'ning vale,My wraith to sweet vision this self esteem faraway accorded,And and up,my plod laid over this dappl'd vale,Ere headlong fallen,a dipsomaniac and dionysian dunghill,ample rebound,congress of acidulous sands,thwacking of desert oasis with gushing rivers,Storming the stormy clouds with her dirgelike grief,gust and disparate hodgepodge,Upon this stanchion,a plopped heave of strays,Which fortifi'd his hardihood from this depressant vale,Whereon silvermoon might be thought,sometime it yell'd,The lugubrious raccoon worn and still undaunt'd flex,Time not had been decommissioned,all that nuptial knots ties with sweet vision my old lady,Nor ordained to expunge her estranged spouse from the living room but spite so frosty of a treacly morass.