Ballad of war

Last night we all might have had something concerning the marksmanshiping of war. The waves then might differ pulsating, cresting, rising and falling both in tides and others?. Last night the something was thither: If I said poetry, might not be alone; if said naïve things naivety, might holden back the rule. Now, how many things were like bubbling through the woods?, how many things were like swerving flower or swirling to dell last night?. I think war was a seasonal tree and was somehow fully alive or it sometimes shedding it's leaves or recently has become magical?. War was sometimes completely dry , is not that sometimes a kind of encounter? how like peace is an love fresh and tender tree?.