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William
England "When my eyes shut, these dreaming houses all snuff out" / -Sylvia Plath
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A breeze of morning spring airs Rustles the birch trees' branches, Existing only as the movement Of the umbral leaves upon the dew-sodden ground. This clearing is sacred, Its solace hallowed, known Only to those who seek truth. True love. True beauty. True peace. Upon an oaken stump Sits a sphere, entirely flawless. Every aspect perfect: Perfect floof. Perfect chonk. A perfect cat. He is my god, my saviour, Ruler of the sacred clearing, where You can always find solace, and A breeze of spring morning airs.
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May 1, 2020
May 1, 2020 at 7:04 AM UTC
William
The Fat Cat is Sacred
A breeze of morning spring airs Rustles the birch trees' branches, Existing only as the movement Of the umbral leaves upon the dew-sodden ground. This clearing is sacred, Its solace hallowed, known Only to those who seek truth. True love. True beauty. True peace. Upon an oaken stump Sits a sphere, entirely flawless. Every aspect perfect: Perfect floof. Perfect chonk. A perfect cat. He is my god, my saviour, Ruler of the sacred clearing, where You can always find solace, and A breeze of spring morning airs.
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