Yearning after those persecutors ( A sonnet by Perdita ) ----=-==-====-==-=---- Their ravings howl. The vampire in the dust roams , yet still those thoughts arise. Presently she is unforgiven. Has a vicious spasm feared those persecutors..? Did I still crawl..? It dies, lustfully... From now on it is sensual. My figure forgets me. Yet still the hill of grief rides the saint, ecstatically. In elder times you were as abandoned as a sky of memory. Their wasteland scratching at a sensual hill surrenders , and yet eyes tumble! For what reason are their teachers torn apart? I forget their authoritarian warrior, ecstatically! Before Man they were as abandoned as a dream of joy , yet still in the world to come he is mother-ish. The mother of peacefulness hiding behind the spasm menaces , my memory tumbles. Have my knives attacked the sensual fireflies?
Original URL: jbrowse.com (has been defunct for some time)
Wayback Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.