Lock the door, there’s treasure in this residence.
Emulation took yesterday its more ambitious form;
Halcyon days subdued an overstated storm.
Attire made us feel within, a cunning precedence;
Recompense for debts, of a fashion for ladies and gents;
Introversion begging for otherness, and reform.
Lock the door, the painting of this residence,
“Bungalows” the peach between the canvas and the frame.
Earrings don’t have to be the silver pearls
of ascendance;
Gobs of an Andalusian Spanish origin; high-gait filly fame.
A ghostly presence was seen in the copper fields. Blame
Transcendence on your troubles when God’s omnipresence
Security grabs a yoke for to behold for its resilience.