Valediction

Avaunt! Avaunt! You heedless scum! That thrattles my unuffish brain, Amazes sweet African wend; All other prose is sane. The boy he drabbled on the road. Effortless, nescient, and tabescent. In loneliveliness and grim haling-gait. He weaves to and forth, a falling descent. The sun, a yolk, in sky's grey cast iron, And stumbling for'ed on vangorious foot. His will is a spindrift of destiny, most unlike the trifectate soot. Mifled his quoul to still: "Wherego my legs on bending trath? Like cloudprints in subtle firmament, I darenot risk GOD's rolling wrath. What can I hope to achieve, With such graunch at my behest. The seed of greed is three'd, It's erupting shoot will die at best. Wen on the road I find my way, Carried by schelacquered breeze That brushes the stalk of ferocity The dark cover-all and skin's quell heeze." Landas, the world did notice his quiet floove, The sun-drenched skyline, its gaze fixed on horizon groove.