A caught gip of stolen time feeds a felted feat for five in a filtered feline
A treas trove robbed by the thief’s of a past reprisal, I balk in disbelief as this cave starts to crumble.
A stride to call, but not a line to find. A valiant warrior sought but not found. To gallop through the valley in utter distaste, lost all wheels to take the glide. What is a poor old lad to do?
Not even a sight of what is plastered in a stolen reel, a lump of coal twists and turns as attempted rescue of those I do care! Walls and concrete are all that are seen, a path to push for at least a lath of battered worth, these scapes of land do wonder the same.
A reliance of lost static warriors does scream for triumphant battle cries, but not a bit of sound is allowed in the programmed fail.
A shadow of a fallen ent does wonder why the movement of time in a worthy line does not push the forest to help this poor tree bearer to honor.
The dusk settles as hampered the hill of a shambled beaked peck, fills the air with a shrill dusted book.