PRIMROSE PATH.PART 2

Not to one's laurels,did he lax to rest these pinions,with writ and wits more libertarian than the eagles and falcons at flight are.Rope he the swindler,his volatile leading strings and like liegeman beneath servitude,almost a deconium had vamoosed.Fugacity in forsooth evaporated like the winds,yet the leecher's swindle linger still.What a purloin,a messy purler,a sale of the pup,punted in the midst of purple passage.Barely,did he hold the purse string,to loosen stranglehold,from the pawn of the seller who sells the pup with the pomp of the confidence game.The bard sometimes pussyfoot of inquisition,to brawl the mahomet.Quizzical sometimes the swindler,held him in quod of quixotic pall,pusillanimous to give leecher his quittance.Not truly on the quivive,to drop his quiver tagged as quitter,by rabbles of the rabblerousers.And lo,quotidian ragbag of raison d'et.red optimism rabbitpunched his navel,to grope the dark all the colours of a rainbow of a cimmerian darkness.What a raindrop of gaunchy clouds rampy!