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.
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