2001
O distress! Taint hath comfort gonging truth
'For tat your wares, your fires or fuels o'erworn
But greasy garments pan preserved did don
Or chairs of mould wore grass, with thy goth mother
For her thyshelf pith cut the main retort
Whilst I such ruses belting tongue compere
If gild such thorns this porpoise come-to, hurt
Under tides thus thought bidden new apparent
Glow that vow ghost will build the haven slack
Hung wit slow wax'd by loving eye troth me
That fit a friend see billed of all of note
If thought if self through endings all my truth
For wed in that in one thee in my tongue
He plays sweet virtue sour'd by blood's report
willfully misreading for pleasure
thanks Ira
love and love
cris
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
|