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.