the peace is erupted,
as my fellow oak friend,
swings to welcome many.
burden of warmth and joy,
all over my self, and face.

particularly my face,

                a down face—
     a falling down face—
                    a dead face—
         a far too dead face

still meets those fine rays.
yet no makeover,
left in one fine daze,
rife with all new face:
        
     a faced far worse face—
       a face none more face—
         a wished no war face—
a closed the door face.

all to erase, what face.

so, bring back the peace: NO delays.

so, put me to peace: NO more face.