The orphan boy shouted, "Adieu!"
As he parted with the overgrown purlieu,
Never more would his heart wade into the blue.
His bluish feet mingled distrust,
Each step cautious on the unexplored heart-thrust,
Driven by hope and bound for honey crust.
"Never more," he pleaded,
"Wary shore, will I settle at your feet,
Accept tores at my hands who mined you.
For I've fleed from the scolder,
Left the bleed that blossomed at my heart,
And will feed the mountains with the others upon dusk."
These new fields weren't weaved with bristles and thorns -
Astrew so that they wound like silk.
Oh how glorious their melody of love!
"But," hummed the boy, "How can such a word of importance be so disregarded as to be spelled with one syllable?
Put thrummed melodies into its sound,
So staccoto the'd drown forte oohs and awes until they meshed gracefully."
~ Should I delete the last two stanzas?