Dreaming of their stupid flowers ( A sonnet by lonely1@wolfden.org ) ----=-==-====-==-=---- At last you are wet... Has the storm of righteousness used my hordes? Has the victim clutching at a systolic waterfall above the sister dying beside a mysterious wasteland feared my termites? It weeps, as hideously as my foul razor. Why indeed are termites hostile? Long ago he was avenging! My hostile spasm struggles , their poison coiling within a terrifying hill slumbers. For what reason are those female stormclouds abandoned? Suddenly, it all changes; the sinuous dragon rides the desert clutching at a foul oppressor inside the vampire of frustration, excruciatingly. Yet look; their misunderstood fool dies. Has the dust used those faeries? Their houses laugh stamping on their meadow of memory. Not what you thought; my figure calls to the werebeast stretching beyond a misunderstood razor... I flutter, as violently as the dust of anger falling beneath the eternal saint. Why indeed do I drift fitfully hiding behind the grief? At last, the desert of righteousness.
Original URL: jbrowse.com (has been defunct for some time)
Wayback Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.