Touch It Too It Is Windy

And gray winter from this bed of the next light, sensitive I know from brevity of late, this afternoon and in order to touch it too it is windy it whispers softly, leaves too the likes of which; this blaze of fire hot this child likened too it, and astonishment; the sun and it with her laugh, when it came. Knowledge should have been liberated of it's comfort and poured outside, mine ear and we who are; we, how rough is it and insensitive too touch off our surroundings; which you play it deftly off surroundings of the ring sheds it's night/light the daytime low-end thing in color of a flame and with the light in which it investigates is peculiar and it all started the fact from that which falls from your sky as tears never let you out, though in song like he, I call. Below with above it; full the eye a basin if and the night comes notification suddenly without, The tree which is inside the leaf; which is brown pleasure of winter and it is; suddenly awake, your finger which is rough and sensitive it surrounds my eye. Spearhead of breath each winter is it's solecism in your smell, and long drawn out and hot are the months 'O' my sweetheart, before 'June' comes I ask, when will I see? ......................... ........... ......