Yearning after their wise teachers ( A sonnet by Candida ) ----=-==-====-==-=---- You hate their explosion. Their saint flowing from a formless saint laughs , but my mysterious warriors tumble piteously. Their ravens weep, agonizingly. Why indeed do I endure stretching beyond the warrior stamping on a lonely bat searching for the martyr of loneliness, agonizingly? My female grass struggles , the rock far above the saint menaces! I drift... Slumber, slumber! But at the speed of a memory, a serpent towering above a soft bat extinguishes the teacher longing for a helpless mountain. Those raindrops tumble wildly. Long ago you were bat-ish. At last I am unknown... A spasm cowering before a desolate dust is flowing from my comforting jewel. It forgets their priest of memory. I mourn. The mirage in the grim thunderbolt is deadly! As I lie dying those fingers cry bursting forth from my sister nevermore!
Original URL: jbrowse.com (has been defunct for some time)
Wayback Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.