[by The Librarian (version 2.1) File #367]
The United States lived in the back draft.
Confidence was planned, and the Lord restored
her losses. Some delegation members,
and the French pressed. A cry of fury burst
from the lips. Out poured wine and a worthy
man, Benjamin Franklin took it. He was
at that time bottling wine. Smartly stealing
what consequent derangement, would squander
on Frigates. A number of things still stood
between the theory and the fish.
The light, which had burned for a few minutes,
was now visible from the foxhole, yet
the earth would not bring forth grass. Would the word
of the Lord come, to the sons of Promise?
Anointing oil was brought. The tide fell.
Seasonal demand required deposits.
The legend relating the Great German,
is instructive here. Farmers and the French
were correct, and later, a man called Keynes.
Inevitably it was discovered.
Brought forth as an offering burned for light
in the temple. The rest of the people,
having understanding, remained outside
the temple, and would not give their daughters
to the sons of that land. And soon many
of those without the light, became wineskins
in smoke. The Captain of that ship of State,
sent all on into the Tenebrarum.
And peering over the red dawn rising,
endeavoured a Coup de Grace.
It was well for us all that his command
was in the darkness only. For at two
cables from Abraham Lincoln, there was
an electric light: supernatural,
and having a frightful rapidity.
Then those aboard made sure with sheep’s feet for,
the French, with congenital tendency,
toward the Great Westward Movement, rallied
with oil, and the star of the ocean. Then
gave jetsam to the light, and left.
Everlasting night now the moon away,
after the usual maneuvers, that
Ship could turn and make for land, but a fire
broke out in the Seven Cities. And like
buffaloes on a prairie it roared on
Toward the sand and fired all the coast
into a glass mountain. The ship thus had
to sail around the Horn. Now, with oil skins
perished, and a suspicion that it all,
is not so easily accomplished.
There was a calm all that day and night. Though,
they made thirty three Leagues and were assured
they were still alive. Then the sea became
mountainous. Slaves were brought to slip the gods.
In sacrifice on deck: black blood on wood.
Mixed for that feather of a man below.
And given as a magic drink: blood was
offered on the slippery deck. So the sea
became calm. But the main sail was a stump,
and that Ship passed on, through the quiet green,
and was not seen again.