Classic Poem

A looking glass of a cherry's ash has a cherry's footprints. Long ago, a bird with pebble-ears fell in a looking glass in a wood, owl of eternal future solitude, thy nude body can be mistaken for golden glass, a great fire breaks out in Berlin, owl, listen. My sympathy was all poetry. Owl children, what is the lightbulb that is above the ninth infant girl's eyebrows and shines the most? Listen to these pebbles laughing. Do you see the snow of innumerable loves falling in tomorrow's winter? Wheat's illusion changes year by year and grows year by year more elegant like a beautiful girl's costume. By a machine that sniffs at goldfish, I knew it was snowing in the waterway as precise as a heart. In a mirror where wheat dries, a whalebone structure moves like the morning sun. Moves like a beautiful girl's magnet. Wheat is disturbed. Wheat's stone breasts are a mackerel actress's mirror. The voluptuous sparrow that painted waves there and left was asleep in my palm. The most beautiful purple bird that flies off from my fingers returns to its nest. The fish that brocade a threadbare coast with golden threads drink hot spring water among clouds. A peacock of zero will sip water from a yellow mirror, and a millionaire's cataract will wrap the white clipper on an owl's head. That is the rebirth of an infinitely white pelican of infinite time, strangely breasts, this is the milk of a great forest that has brought up copper and owls. Milk of a milk star of a black cloud, the lady dove who bore my seven mirrors sucks my milk before noon. The pasturage of my mirrors has now grown taller than the dove's chest and is crowned with a butterfly's brain, the hearts of the doves in the dark between its two legs are reciprocal. Blossoms of kisses open on plum blossoms. It's the hour for the nude body of the lady dove, the hour for an iceberg to talk, the hour for a starfish to laugh. Listen to the beautiful voice of a blue butterfly surrounded with rock cliffs on four sides, owl children in my pupils. Decorations on the calendar of your skin. Heaven's love pours into the chandelier on the marsh bottom and into a carp's lovely gloves. The gold of a gold treasure is a painting one heavenly body one sign a polar bear OUI
Seven perfect natures on the lake the infinite sun's enticing chests mounting the animals of ribs of ripples sport blossoms according to their custom. A Muse of the secret heart of thunderclaps wrapped with clouds is related by marriage to a cactus flower. The waves of the river of my joined hands, my hen's voice that is a knee, (1) which is ruby, and (2) which is marble, a blossom of a ship on the lake visible from a window, a boy who is a natural stone kow-tows to an infant carp under the waves under the clouds like underground water. In an express train I am a field of gems. This is the midsky of rape flowers. Cloud candy of a ritual, descend from heaven, hanging from a breeze's cheeks bonbonbon ... the sculpture of a bird on the round-shaped lake of the cheeks is eternal. The ship of heaven's lake water that reflects in the water on the land, I, dressed as a rose in one of its dressing rooms, am an infinitely tall sailor. A white abrupt wave destroys a statue of hydrangea the newest love. An angel's egg-shaped bedroom where the civilization of snow's dreams emerges on his elf's ring flourishes blue on the horizon. Elf, love thy elf.