Swimming bees across the withery flowers,
And pouring of tis flowers.
Heavy winds below the clouds of grey storms of night,
That makes myself to fright.
Each window cattles from mocking birds at day,
Sends and goes across this,
With letters each day.
My heart beats like a drumming thunder at night,
That scarce the wounds of thy aching light.
Is this who I believe has called?
You, my Lord, across the water logs,
Who seizes letters of my home.
"Twas the night,
until the mid day,
Meet thou of under moonlight.
We see eclipse till here.
Please come and see me cheer."
Are you barking mad?
Any sense of your dying debt?
What makes me go to you ashed head!
O! Art thou name?
I shall see you thee till Morning!
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