There were days when The Federalist, cool as waves. And the Eastern light shone thru every morning window. Yet states were blending and called to various tunes. A wind blew the silky curtain of a picture. Violence became programmatic. Those Roman legions remember the trek to the bitter end. They remember the trek again. And further on, the sun seems faint.
Historically, we see a beginning with a brief mention. Toes were stepped on, an ocean threw things forth. Seawash looked to lower ground, addressing the masses without pity. So many thought they were clear in their understanding.
The riots of the people formed in a gastric region, colluding with essential items and noteworthy proceedings, treating mercy like a smell. Topic sentences were brought forth and expatiated upon. Every word had another in tow.
These days and the flowers we used to see. Each impeding engine recreates a prolonged bad sentence. Fine trees with their green effort circle around us. The word for that is almost close at hand.
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