A SENTINEL YONDER HILLS-PART ONE

A sentinel yonder hills a sentinel yonder hills.Beyond the gropping sun,lies a seer who sees the yonder hills, Sentry no more beneath the heated moon, Nor the sentinel pastime's pasture blushes,that it might be bereft of forages, that your indescribable cosmos salivates,hast renege not,Dissuade art thou gone not;and taken your libido gritty; Platonic platitude and hilly beans must redound fret,as bandwagon jumpers come home to roost,in their vagabond esplanade of bandwagon jump.Thraldom no more frollic when yonder hills,he sees,thoughtfully as artfully brudderless banks wary no more enchant,that strangling spectre of dose of physic,a leeway from thraldom imprisoned,the throng plausible but come to dust, Graveyard plaudits,wreaths at the tombs,lightens not frittered vintage,circa by circa,Nor prior pleadings,for a relief at this epitaph's dialect,quirky pall a sigh to placate