The seasons like before are morally exigent, shivering in a synthetic valence, coming back, never.

Their thoughts praised us for our purpose —
Scribes were 1st to jot this down — who shall hanker after whom.

Like before, seasons work outdoors among diamondbacks. If you don’t believe me ask them.

In the change-up old seasons are repurposed having lost to conceptual deflation, stratagems. Add the rank

I confer on the notably next available beauty, living in the future,
because that’s how beauty works.