brawl scrawl

How doth the frimbling donnybrook bisect a torrid flan Then find a winding tumbleweed to drape its scrapes upon? The nether weather's never clear enough to glimpse the mist Betwixt the fixtures' baffled laughters, fearful of a twist. Just listen. Welters melt, and gilded geldings pine for mates. Their late embraces face the svelte erasure of the dates When shoes wear feet, and dews compete to drench the desert's jowls. Its muffled scuffle rips its lips free of their grip - and howls. Horrendous mendicants relax. Though taxed until they bruise, They'll spin thin sinews into strings that other things can use. Heaped deep in narrow barrows that depend upon red wheels, The toil they spend won't end until the oil defeats the squeal. Oh, never doubt that out's a smaller side of wall than in. Only a strong belong lets more than trifling life begin. Let conflagrations sizzle, drizzle overmatching blaze, And shed predation for the lore of one who humbly prays.