A Pretense He Just Made!
A pretending glib raises a fib sun is down the corn is melting Rich in snips. Tolls at sips: of frames, suddenly gliding! Strenuous at dawn, covered and forlorn the grits of sepulchers snit in fits. He saw the truck getting rid of rubbish right at the street where the torrential water had appeased his taste to fill! Will i stay? Or will i leave? It seems he's here to stay and believe: That, the truck, dumped the waste, at the top of the gate, carrying its feud, machinations of civilians, trying to blaspheme him, with oblivion.