That Motley Drama of Scenic Solitude

in the dead of (winter) night in the dead of winter (night) a mime was executed for stealing pancakes the gunpowder tango sounded over the burnt black bones of Bastille wretchedness comes in manifold reverie in distempered visions of epochal disasters mime's widow's now loitering enshrouded dismal and dismantled into the strawberry storm of desolate lament on a horizon monomaniacal embers of deceased mementos shuddered after the rain of infirmity day dawned once again with frolicsome frogmarch in shrubberies echoing the ghastly romance friendly fiends and fiercer fury of mountain tops are inversed by limb contorting boredom in the dead of (winter) night in the dead of winter (night)