*Reserata Carcerem XLIV*
Yore, chewed churning curse sewn sage -
ñ an urchin did he spit rasp rage;
ñ bounty bicycle had h' ridden.
Alas! Moist murk his tarred tog cl'ven.
Anon, tottered by th' urchin's sire,
'n' apt acumen rehearsed th' transpired.
Only t' know th' sewn sage for his sire -
his callous urchin smeared grandsire?
"Holla, sire.", sunny sire did quethe,
fanning...
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