gri_2003_m_46_b04_f04_010
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Transcribers
- 66962288 - Preacher357
- 67433443 - ethomson
- 67557655 - nhsia
- WINNER - 67831164 - rhughes307
- 67966735 - dixiechicken
- 68031621 - Berhel
66962288 - Preacher357
To turn to more cheerful topics, here is a poem for you,my darling Muse:
Trolls may live in sonnet's caves
But stalactites of rhyme descend
And stalamites ensure the end,
Behind stone bars, of instinct's slaves.
When miners find them like seven sleepers
The agony above is over.
You, miners, have resleased (take cover),
The original chimney sweepers -
Those ones climb the emperor's chimney
As if it were a lift-shaft to all floors.
Treasure and souvenirs are theirs.
What they cannot eat they bury.
Wild as they are while they slept we melted
The glacier that froze
The William Morris sunflowers.
The caves are flooded now the trolls are putti
It is about the id of lovers being released mutually and their
pleasure making southern putti of Northern trolls - ives,
thought Yawalla - like, give essential drives.
I have to go in talk room about 'Painting as an Interrational
Language' to some Quakers the N.G.
I love you, Sylvia dearest, I love you
Lawrence
67433443 - ethomson
To turn to more cheerful topics, here is a poem for you,my darling Muse:
Trolls may live in sonnet's caves
But stalactites of rhyme descent
And stalamites ensure the end,
Behind stone bars, of instinct's slaves.
When miners find them like seven sleepers
The agony above is over,
You, miners, have released (take cover),
The original chimney sweepers -
Those who climb the emperor's chimney
As if it were a lift-shaft to all floors,
Treasure and souvenirs are theirs.
What they cannot eat they bury.
Wild as they are while they slept we melted
The glacier that froze
The William Morris sunflowers.
The caves are flooded now the trolls are putti.
It is about the id of lovers being released mutually and their
pleasure making southern putti of Northern trolls - who,
though Yawolla-like, give essential drives.
I have to go & talk soon about 'Paintings as an International
language' to some Quakers visiting the N.G.
I love you, Sylvia dearest, I love you
Lawrence
67557655 - nhsia
To turn to more cheerful topics, here is a poem for you,my darling Muse:
Trolls may live in sonnet's caves
But stalactites of rhyme descend
And stalamites ensure the end,
Behind stone bars, of instinct's slaves.
When miners find them like seven sleepers
The agony above is over.
You, miners, have released (take cover),
The original chimney sweepers -
Those who climb the emperor's chimney
As if it were a lift-shaft to all floors.
Treasure and souvenirs are theirs.
What they cannot eat they bury.
Wild as they are while they slept we melted
The glacier that froze
The William Morris sunflowers.
The caves are flooded now the trolls are putti.
It is about the id of lovers being released mutually and their
pleasure making Southern putti of Northern trolls -- who,
though Yawolla-like, give essential drives.
I have to go & talk soon about 'Painting as an International
language' to some Quakers niriting the N.G.
I love you, Sylvia dearest, I love you,
Lawrence
WINNER - 67831164 - rhughes307
To turn to more cheerful topics, here is a poem for you,my darling muse:
Trolls may live in sonnet's caves
But stalactites of rhyme descend
And stalagmites ensure the end,
Behind stone bars, of instinct's slaves.
When miners find them like seven sleepers
The agony above is over.
You, miners, have released (take cover),
The original chimney sweepers -
Those who climb the emperor's chimney
As if it were a lift-shaft to all floors.
Treasure and souvenirs are theirs.
What they cannot eat they bury.
Wild as they are while they slept we melted
The glaciers that froze
The William Morris sunflowers.
The caves are flooded now the trolls are putti.
It is about the id of lovers being released mutually and their
pleasure making southern putti of Northern trolls - who,
though Youwalla-like, give essential drives.
I have to go & talk soon about "Painting as an International
language" to some Quakers visiting the N.G.
I love you, Sylvia dearest, I love you
Lawrence
67966735 - dixiechicken
To turn to more cheerful topics, here is a poem for you my darling muse:Trolls may live in sonnet's caves
But stalactites of rhyme descend
And stalagmites ensure the end,
Behind stone bars, of instinct's slaves.
When miners find them like seven sleepers
The agony above is over.
You, miners have released (take cover),
The original chimney sweepers.
Those who climb the emperor's chimney
As if it were a lift-shaft to all floors.
Treasure and souvenirs are theirs.
What they cannot eat they bury.
Wild as they are while they slept we melted
The glaciers that froze
The William Morris sunflowers.
The caves are flooded now the trolls are putti.
It is about the id of lovers being released mutually and their pleasure making Southern putti of Northern trolls - ?? though yawalla like, give essential drives.
I have to go to talk soon about 'Painting International Language' to some Quakers visiting the National Gallery.
I love you, Sylvia dearest, I love you
Lawrence
68031621 - Berhel
To turn to more cheerful topics, here is a poem for you, my darling muse:Trolls may live in sonnet's caves
But stalactites of rhyme descend
And stalamites ensure the end,
Behind stone bars, of instincts slaves.
When miners find them like seven sleepers
The agony above is over.
You, miners, have released (take cover),
The original chimney sweepers -
Those who climb the emperor's chimney
As if it were a lift shaft to all floors.
Treasure and souvenirs are theirs.
What they cannot eat they bury.
Wild as they are while they slept we melted
The glaciers that froze
The William Harris sunflowers/
The caves are flooded now the trolls are putti.
It is about the id of lovers being released mutually and their pleasure making southern putti of Northern trolls - into, though Tawalla. like, give essential drives.
I have to go to talk soon about 'Painting as an International language' to some Quakers visiting the N.G.
I love you, Stylvia dearest, I love you
Lawrence