Saint Danes Away

Another night cumbered on the dazed cornerstone grave. There goes another one less each wake that goes away. Here and the great hereafter does not yet take hold. Sudden that which is cold is true dead sores under toe. Laugh comes through the echoes of love’s last lost. Take away morning chill for the better sauce enter to. Prayer and pray alone along the dark dimly lit sway. Let not us error unless that Saint Danes come away.