So I saw the town in its lights of dazzling glory in the outset of the late eventide today;
Surely, as they would say, something is about to end.
So I descried the creamy vanilla atop my head in the sky, how white betwixt the cerulean tinge that swathed it like a garb of a heavenly coat. Wondered I if warm it must be - you see, did the sun unusually supersede itself in the hour is it anticipated by the folks to depart.
I fancy my heart that I have, hitherto in my loving care for the sort of taste thee leave under my tongue, not acquainted you with a lady at teen feet apart from me.
A lady with a pale red robe with a chignon tied right on the right front of her waist, exactly where leaves her the rest of the dress to fall.
Is she the lady in black;
is she the one in tangerine;
is she a soul pious in the hour that I waste bereft of my prayers.
I saw her again today as dropped the drops of mist like false flakes of the first snow in my hometown.
Must I tell thee how cold an evening it was, yet not the same.
Must I tell thou how it disturbed me at my core and shook my lips on the taut string of Arnold's beats of an acoustic guitar.
Yes, shook my legs, but safe were my hands, absolutely still - alas! How now?
Yes, quivered my hips and waist with all the skin that kept me from the souffle and the blancmange -
Looking for Arnold and my mother's delicacy,...