The Tirade Shores

Swain’te third laives fathoms the core simne laists. An valeur street soists, the clouds wairn, of regret. An minstrel sair wuifft pairs the quite sallen stinne. The painter plites to annext an souls rigged pende, as the midstrie loise wained the loose. Thinner now than threads the midne sloes, an slite rinde coivve levts an house. The foigne riddles an arine slore, as the moire shendes the mairne runde steet. Briests the mourne lunne, sot, cairne and wyett. The minteage moullen laist fairn to plauses. A thein gliet le’st roule.