As Did I Saunter By Ye Edge Of Thy Rail...

Ssshhh, don't make a sound,

Ssshhh, the devil abounds,

Ssshhh, stay under,

Ssshhh, stay your shudder...

'Tis quite eccentric a sensation that I bear now, thou see, 'this peculiar a part of something is that within me, and does it thrive indeed. Ask thee what the concern is but, may I rather beseech to be allowed to divulge? 'Tis strange, and ah! deeply strange to me dear, and must I entreat thou to abandon the flowers of anticipation may that seek to blossom in thee now, anticipating clarity, because, vagueness is all can I promise thee for am I meself in vivid a clasp of some beautiful unawareness, and ah! so unaware am I!

Am I having my moments of few hurled along the edge of silver a boundary keeping a lake confined within itself, and I, I saunter, and saunter, and saunter even more, as me feet traverse forthright along the edge of so quiet a lake that lies still? But, is there no stillness in lieu, is there mobility and energy that summons one's notice, mayhap, just for once. 'Twill is so erroneous for me to claim having ventured to notice but, so 'twill is unjust if deny I the same. Am I no poet in disguise for poet am I not, but does disguise hath me in some way of its own. Mayhap, 'tis bewildering for thee to heed but, entreat I thou to still continue. Am I not by meself but, is meself seemingly all I hath at a moment of this sort and captivated am I towards ineluctable a beauty that am I too blind to see; but 'tis inevitable and so inevitable that surrenders me resistance of conceiving it? Is there tranquility in the voice of the lark that sings in an hour like this, and subtle is it to my ears so tired otherwise; is there cacophony as well, so cumbersome yet, ardent in me that can me eyes behold waves screaming rage in a lake lies that so still; and is there quelled a verbosity that implores for some way out, and says it," will any paving be enough for me satiation; crooked a lane with abandoned residences? be it so for me - untrodden a path is all I seek". And am I so aloof with companies accompanying me; mayhap, 'tis merely the wind keeping me hostage but, am I no prisoner it has but, one to admire it merely. And allow I, my feet to stride for seems it the only path of spending incessantly palpable an energy that thrives within me, and does the wind hurl a grin on the visage I bear, so orthodox but, unorthodox is the grin that soon falls in the cradle of an infant's slumber on my lips...as a bear I a flush of many desires to see...