Assiduous in yellow, dandelions cook the early days with flair. They imbibe treble and hawk in the pitch of their domain. They align weed with impresario, expecting nothing but fount. Fanatics who see them eased in green have fits, seeing moral invasion in the neural network of tone. Impossible bollocks for these pouncing agitations in your civic duty. They invade your lawn your lawn and trace the counter tone. Known as astute provocateurs, dandelions have strong communal instincts and cherish their young. Soon they will join the generous wind with upbeat dalliance and a process of time. Dandelion, tell us the tale past the shadow, in the time when time lets loose and all funding is secured.
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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