Clean Rest To Feast

Many are the pools in bed rich languishing roses. Mothers in woman weeping freely for lack is want of why. Dreams are some times only for sleep.. yet you stir and move it is on you that I see always constantly... Gnashing, butting as he him self.. It is that I am and as such it casts them out onto the coast barring those ghosts... Still the wing of wind blows coolly to wash you within to flow out so it falls onto your cotton shields.Rest it upon. Your silk is fresh so sweet sky most clean as are you. Rest now knowing you may taste the feast.