childe of distress
witness of the veriest
in various need
sure all that the steed
visor helmet & the gleave’d
welkin btw
as the silver’d plaits
on a grayn roan ran on
to a serenade
for the moatess tress’d
nearest to a portcullis
that post-mortar seems
shall the rondelles weep
as a note-roll’d handkerchief
settles in the sheaves
ayaladn 
I like tihs tack your ship has taken.>KB
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I put aside the rusty schwin, at a flatland…
Dubb floated the idea, while the time lapsed,
it seemed epochal…and she’s fond of rolled oats,
so why not? Otto
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Any dark towers, on the horizon?
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None to worry over, Sir, in good company.
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Always in this place, j
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