I am not yet done writhing,
My heart pale in pain,
and my soul wrung-ed in disdain,
Your vacation was not yet over,
but you left me a squatter,
Elnino came and filled the stoup-er,
The waves are now more squally,
the lake barren with no fish,
I cant swim through the Whales,
or will i argue with the hales,
But only complain that;
Dad this is my sob story,
to that silly mossy grave land,
That attracted you more than earth,
and paid your dowry to get married to death.
I have no family,
But just the morning glory,
The birds that croon in the eve,
And when it dawn in the morn,
The beautiful horizon,
The sun that kisses the dew,
Forget about the light to the few,
But tell me a brief of;
How is your new home?
Is it curved into a dome?
I love domed houses,
I followed my dreams,to ride horses,
But the earth is a dog-leg,
it is bestial like a snake egg,
Papa please ghost out,
and see an engineered stout.

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