Horace Odes One Thirty-Eight

By | 2 February 2001

Pretensions I hate: puerile apparatuses
Desplicing nexus garlands phlegmy coronae
smitten sectarian roseate quotes dislocation
sheer mortuary.

Simplicity, a myrtle that needs no elaboration,
No profuse curating. My friend, for us the myrtle
Is becoming. wheter when serving or under the trellis
we drink to life.

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