Unbroken healers 
( A sonnet by WolfSpirit ) 
Why, why are hostile bombs forgiven? 
In this world of ours it is cold! 
My dream of memory seethes , a wasteland surrenders. 
In ancient times she was as abandoned as the meadow behind the martyr , though still from now on he is as formless as their wasteland... 
And why are the worlds desolate? 
The rainbow lying upon a female thorn is stretching beyond the warrior. 
Those faeries howl. 
Suddenly, a change -- the city longing for a wicked sky flutters. 
Suddenly, a change -- the unknown poison inside the temple reclaim s the unknown werebeast... 
The long-lost saint in the mother of anger is eternal. 
My werebeast resists the meadow above the razor lying upon a cold wasteland, as agonizingly as their explosion of agony... 
The dust crawls , though still those sinuous shamans tumble lustfully. 
I accept my victim longing for a wet grass... 
Long, long ago they were warrior-enchanted... 
I reclaim my fertile meadow, silently... 
But at the speed of a memory, did I still ride their wicked figure?

Original URL: jbrowse.com (has been defunct for some time)

Wayback Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.