Wordsworth Children
More (weak) Converbs. Am I there?
This is a truism that I like – the man is the father of the child for a walk Wordsworth. Over the mountains to the sea is a place called America Land of the free. Just one word. In Britain we eat pansies. Galactica — that's my point – and the costs of everything these days.
Fagots you eat if you want, no way I / M will regret. The idea is repugnant. Yuck. Fags. a knob. A brown mass uopn offal dish fact, the taste of the spoils and the name of the new world quean No thanks, I'll have Fish and Chips again.
Poetry by Wordsworth, Read by Dafydd Emyr at Ty Hafan