Trombe Walls

a chore of love
lovers claim
to muck the soils
of lovers lane
settle scores for future tiffs
a world adorned
might then we kiss

"gal i fry me foo, foo!'
stop your laboring, be me bride!
Might I be as swell as you in such a deprecation of
mi sisterhood. those who might like you might want you for dayselves. "Mi mum might sweet ya, to eat she confections, chore ye to make her smile, she'll never tust ya!' we can be freinds, something that might have you kind to me, and not have you curse mi!"
then you may never chore to have think kind thoughts"
"damn foolish woman, how can you think mi so fool as to make freind and mi woman spoken in the sme breath?"
"then are you ignorant and foolish too?" Smiling, she told him, as foolish as you will have mi, and as strange as you can make this. What if i told ya that i love you woman: would you understand what i wish to have and create with ya? speak mi magnifcent even when you dispiese me, caalm the shores of the most terrible storm, and make the thirst of mi longing satisfied with a kiss, do you see me doing that to you with lusting eyes as i do the Prettians?" leave me woman that you are vile and deceitful, might the stories of your night, age you to be whore no more!