In stunning myself with shocks of help and ticks of
Convolution;
I think to crack the serious code of Earth, its
Revolution;
When it was cold, now savagely wet, to bring some
Confirmation;
The seasons are failing, and lovers are nailing
The hammer to their rings' relations.

Why marry a marinara underneath
Consternation?
With a series of red, the foundation's gone dead
So where is procrastination?
Her name's on the list, she's ordered a dress
And her color is fire-red-blue;
How can she enjamb a truth to her will
When she knows how I feel about standing so still?

It was wickedly tiring and sorrowingly hack
When all the tilt was pushed so back
That the failure of Fahren to measure the heat
And to cook our skin as ultraviolet meat
Was not such a failure, more a cloudy shield
That works so well to meld and wield
Protection in the form of darkness and mirth;
The stupor it lifted made me love the tree's girth.