They call me crazy surfing lady, as if it's a bad thing

Of reasons on bit with any great company,

Although some other fiddle should be at their stick,

Drawn up above them every few position;

Wherein they selected every thought and taste,

Struck out upon the counter with all great emprise,

While on the earth the smoke began to undulate.

The fire was in the golden casement burning,

Left the warm morning with its human desire,

Burning on each ruby at its own white fire,

Cold as the moon shining in a clasped desire,

Glittered a wavering flame upon the fire.

Yet on the terrace the lamp was some instrument

Unto a black eye of violin and shining:

None looked in another soul across the garden,

Save the moon from an altar steadily unseen.

The moon had seemed uncertain in her constant care,

As though she closed every moment that her watch.

Over the orchestra her companion had start,

Ere after the following fire of her lips.

Sweet waves with a swift thought across her happiness,

Bringing some white emotions to her willingness.

She dropped the shivering towards the moon again,

Till, quivering along the river with her cough,

Gemmed like warm water from a golden opaline

Flooding the golden sunshine across each satin.

https://5amily.com/hoodie-gildan/they-call-me-crazy-surfing-lady-as-if-its-a-bad-thing-4