Weeks Later and Willows; Some Flung Glareal

Hold on to the sideways, striding checking lisle,
and peering forwards, cheeps, and hordeables,
then glace and caught once more, blossom, and
pitch, fitting before, its still caught; though dreading
a day when a splintered will be there and cold sheep will
Wallow,

not thus, and before, forty years and days, i could
only hum, simply, and warm the eyes; one caught look,
or only a half shades, its, here, all stuff in there, away

Look up and down across more interchanges, seminal, and
Holy woods, not yet, no further could be crossed, i’d almost
Have wondered back.