FYILD

Words of strangeness can only prescribe

A thing that untouchable one it precises.

Saint-George-The-Sword

There is a plant.

It´s name is “saint-george-the-sword”.

There are canteers where they grow

and been caught to the craft.

I like to hand it like it was not

for the things of the King to defend

and the vertue to guard of the Queen.

I like to be solitaire en la vie…

Loving the same of the Lady…

………….

I catch a swords…

“

For loving the King they fell to another in love

Lancelot and Guinevere. To the King invinceble,

they both loved each other.

For the King was at near beyond his eyes –

and beyond hers so deep and clear -

all in sparks of ancient news.

And both of each other looked

as far as they could not be

- at the throne of the amusements

- at the fall of the blessed follows

- such a love for Him

who never made a thing; ever.

He innocent among a several dots.

He laughable among amounts of shots.

He alive.

He healthy.

Most than healthy.

He alives a Healthy.

“

No! No thing can be described!

Why not be only the lover?…

Why does this pain at singing?…

O! Aurora!

The year is breaking to the day!

I only singing…

I solitaire…

~ ~

I close my eyes.

With my eyes is she.

They are the same.

The history books

will be needed to tell in the schools

what a matter is the love on our flying

lives.

‘