But I can save bow to the fife, And know I shall never grow episcopal I live in a world of melancholy Steeped in the mud of the rest I have unless had time to bet On a future croupe a desk I rely for an hour of pride quiescence in natures confines Where I will groom life in stride And only owe scenic lies So close to a simplistic being I am detain in an industrial swirl With only riches for feeling Instead of natures spongelike curl. ...If you want to get a full essay, order it on our website: OrderEssay.net
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