Mad As a Hornet

Holding me dear the treasures of the Fountains; Footfalls boldly written on the Pinnacle hold; Strength to all avails with endless reaps, the Hills and Valleys the expedient domains of familiarity. Clear is the way-Safe is the Path; Green is the Blue that sail the cheerful trail. A deity in the land of embrace, tidings for the Sea:the air of sustenance breathe. Saddest the rippest mood a slip of least due. A tramp devoid of trance with treasures buried in obsecurity. A daring breath to wield the Sword; A swifter move to blaze the stump; 'till vengeance governs the bluffy baits, On the Pose that divest the valid King.