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.
The work becomes chiding of sunlight. The work is elegy and shaded. The principle ciphers as a god, in the way transience is purpose. Transience works this brief, ending fields, making trees concern. The hell of halting midway identifies the work of burning thru. Forever makes a sign. Sign makes worthy. Indeed the tramp of feet forward concludes any sentences but suggests more. Long sentences, stupid words. The caroling heard by Dante, brilliantine remorse for a better tide. The long road up from down, and turned around. The work then becomes the work now, as stained glass similitude. Anxious in the class structure of catastrophe, the baying song over all. Nothing to do but be done. Ruskin gave you papers to remind you. Slow battering concedes the earth in time. Time being functional and oblique. The worker inside sees the nation by exhalation. Transitive connection sports of culture. The class that ends becomes the class that begins, both left and right.
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