Yellowstone

The Yellowstone river, at the edge of the valley. The moon walk is not left on one, but two not three. On sagging soil, on threesome burrows. On mudstone, on the Yellowstone river. Three layers, of not on fours. The etching part is not left on all. There was a bit of marrow on that wall. If left for a barrel, a boulder, a falter letter. Two moon rats across the vineyards. If not skipping, stuck between two hedges. Not a garden, but a stow. Waiting and see for a grassland meadow. There I come I see, A crimson if not for thee, Of layers drought if not for lee, Two men stuck in the middle. So if may I ask, what foresaw, If not I thee the law, Of not so privileged, Not for draught, Of one man need of one.