National history is a day like tuesday. The splendour or course river acts like a word, something daily and with rivals known for boats. Picture that raft on that merging waterway, a sentence for future heroes. That cast language of a politic nation stands for difference in tune. Sudden use cries a harping on the worst day of yammering. The blues came from the fount where drinking true water each of us, and sundays in the park, and lifted daylights on the beachy sands of seacoast, and mountain hardluck reverie waystation till the moors pop flowers in sbundance.
It begins with a scanning of light, a settlement of words. The lightly fracture of Bird sound begins in the office of seeing. Not sentiment but sense, as cool as Green in the Early days. Pasture resists nonpasture, no one Refers to none. All remains including nothing. Morning Is belief and there simply there. Tides go freshly to the point.
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