She has attained the permanence
When the caravans of wool-teams climbed the ranges from the West,
First-born and final relic of the night,
My poet, thou canst touch on all the notes
I knew a Princess: she was old,
It is portentous, and a thing of state
There is a tavern in the town, in the town,
PRECEPT I.
Whoaness.
Gender:
Points: 171
Reviews: 20