Peace.
In no time flat, if thoughts and prayers,
must fly,
fleeing seems to have been done,
and some of us
are good to the dregs, every last drop.

Squeeze the fruit you grow,
after fifty season, you can't lie, it's sweet,
this old age I imagined.

- watch out of context this lives true
- when all who knew my name
took it in as an orphaned thought, made
of peace in pure chaos,
final form, AI guide of the child buyer season.