Where there is will there is a way to test what is meant:
so this is still the day to pass on what was lent.
When I fill cracks with clay, it’s space I rent.
Don’t drill, all that there’s mine beneath the tent.
BOOM (I’m okay)
I can’t kill the grave spade I bent.
(But I’ll grill the gravy to get back what I spent.)
With my last gill breathe, play lacks intent
and scar-let pill-ow case taxes the gent.
Little hill on which I stay, onwards bound I went
laugh where I wheel, and yes, lament. Amend.