... _ _ _ ...

Feel the remain in the U.S.A. as the sleeper's are stoned,

the sop is as a wet bog of disgraced,

the aspect of death on the pets,

a shoulder that made cry a better state,

the better of the best on the nestle of only an oak.

The Trees,

what sway made path to John McCain at life on the Senate floor,

a display for Senator Dianne Feinstein?,

or was it honest the platform for a swan?,

the voice a thousand geese at the price of a moose?,

what valley rose to the sight of a mountain of a vernacular?,

as the price of cost is felt is it only the antler that despairs until fall?,

wise words give ribbon rounds.

Shape grasps such finish that the end of days qualifies?,

what religion roasts his guitar from Vietnam?,

is it the wealth that speaks from the silence of their closed sessions?,

how on the terminology does a sentence formulate should the U.S.A. bark?,

the hooves and the stoke!!

Tile to grout,

the tub of mud is as the depth of water raised hell,

good for that is the fire is out,

the soggy bottom.

A deed to the reef is that land is the honey and sweet,

milk is of the cow,

goat and all mother of earth plant life to flowering sands,

the torque of the sun gives grapes and wine is in the stout!!

Shift to a pant and the role is as the water sweats to the clouds of rafting,

a river winds to the gears of Lombard freezing in state the Niagara as the canoe barreled,

look it is the view.

A tarpon owl grave to detail swam a style to the feather and ink,

the blotted point spoke a wheel and round rounds gave zero the number of pile,

there upon the cone a road,

the highway of late has no name as 66 lost it's anchor to the motorcade,

then the clock big been sat to seat a tick,

that came to month a date on the time of where is the talk,

once upon that stoop the bell clang rang to the ring became the coop?,

night that to a dark hour and the U.S.A. would America Up!!

What a steep on the Hill.

Listen to the range as the buffalo are in the antelope song,
oh beautiful,
the planes sail to melody as the breeze is in the singing of a million spine,
the backbone of our country is width of that flight,
these are the operations of not a type,
it is you that grips the foot to waltz.

This is the day of what is a lake,
the water with the ocean as it's trim,
that House is in a tender relief,
the country the U.S.A. can make a Spruce the Birch of scrolls that lasted for a Mountain.

There out on those widen,
a month is a calendar to date the Christmas 2018 and is it the present that makes Thanksgiving Marconi,
comfort my sifting sound,
gentle I must be with such horror of memory,
this is the traveling Blues while the verbs out in my shedding tears,
cheeks with morning dew as the mist is the fog on this San Francisco stay.

Might the American be of the U.S.A.,
may confusion not continent to more,
marching to the tune of just my country,
this is the United States of America,
sight grief and embrace a friend,
it is the love of a thousand eyes that can change grief to camaraderie in send.

I still sort the overlook of that day that Detective Benjamin Marconi was fallen,
the pine I silent as that week was shoring to my hand in sorrow,
it could not soar as the eagle of our flag,
the days to follow just marrow,
these are the bones of frail,
I shook to that Thursday and the lack of spoken,
silents rim.

To gasp would be the air being vacuumed from that room,
no despair fell my pain,
I chose to post a San Jose Police Department surge,
the public ignored the staff,
I cried.

There in the inch to such a year that my mother died the peek,
for her cusp she ranged 'til the year of two-thousand seventeen,
a bare mark for January closed her sail on the 11th,
what a post,
the posture of a lady that rose more to a home than an address or speak,
she merited the speech,
for her and in fragile reminder,
her support gave rise to her land of remind,
please be ears to our Senator from California,
it is the day that makes the floor more than a shaking hand,
it's the chair from such words that electricity is,
lightbulbs flow to our marketplace,
our cloth is of more than cheese,
and mostly,
it is the fact,
the facts that reach to the law and make our country more than a flag,
it is the united.

Is not the ink in the spot that signatures sighted the distance,
rift is not the desk of noise,
the voice,
The Floor!!

History prevail in these days of silent thunder on this Earth,
felt only the world at it's hem to our Fathers,
Founders ripen to the apple that never need a bite,
the garden is no youth to old that flutes a drum,
feel this heat in the girth of your cart to trumpet,
there is a land of freedom,
the speech is in the hand and not the harp of heavens above,
it is on this dirt in the U.S.A. that fed the worth of continents abroad,
it is the words that graced the pause,
we are not of war to the land that is not in the wheat of only a green bile,
that vomit is from religions wool as the sheep bled the hooting hauler,
be grain to this as the corn is not the heat of fire,
it is the sway of our people,
the shoulders of whom prized our founding fathers,
from each family made,
touch upon this story and the chapter born.