My Boy Ryngkhlem

Mystery of making home


Ago, the blessed territory is well-nigh mislaid, but the land sight in \'Quiet Utterances!\'

Here likely I\'m, for it permits without let or hindrance on my own,

Confide both in sackcloth and ashes yearned:

So I plot back and forth to stuck midway. While It\'s will not certainly;

No lives persist, but her bases touch not down the ground nearly

She faked a change of tune

By nearly and charade and graces alone.

Her attired eyes left the morrow grotesque.

 But he\'s demonstrated an astral, His adroit a twinkling genii!

Sun showed the power of stars celebrating the rest to a real looked

One\'s to be bound by the charming voice knowing where from the long reverse Home, made to its perfection unlike the other.