Jun 2021
The sound of the skeleton flower's petal was heard.
Time to go home.
Dripping from the roof is the moisture for the family and animals for 1 whole day.
The sheep filed through the cottonwood gate.
The aardvarks came next, tiptoeing on the birds' isle and then proceed to float on the eye of the lake.
Hot crackling popped from the bird seeds and savaged corn cobs.
All trees and webs lost their sway to give breath to the farmer's daughter.
The miracle of the picturesque was all stolen by her.
The hair is unmatched with nature's colors.
Her rough, sticky, lavender gray curls.
Love is the black ants gathering for the flan, leaf-shaped.
She dips the lark in a pool of beet juice.
Glazed the firewood with snaps of her belting notes and wiped with trots of chameleon.
And the whole world glowed.
One time, the farm girl had too much fun
But does not know what day it is Neither the sun blinks
So hey, why not start expanding this farm?
Instead of an animal kingdom, a planetarium is forged.
He whispered, "I'm soft as a cloud."
He caressed, "I can give you everything."
He slashed, "I promise."
She knew. But, it was her ambition to have no ambitions.
The baby sheep were sleeping next door.
They were crying.
They were always crying.
Sometimes she wished they had less rights.
But the cries meant something else.
"Baby, why do you keep dying? Just walk already. I wish you were already 25 so you can feel alone."
Sundials were Sunday oranges to drink
Melting, melting, melting it until confessions became concessions.
Obsessed on breaking a patch of grass to look at her reflection. That is her only way to have a reflection.
Comb the grass up if she felt hazy.
Comb the grass down if she has the urge to joust.
Comb the grass everywhere to just forget every minute.
The figs were sagging and darkening. Yet, it was no tither season.
She wondered, "Is there even a mosquito that likes me? I always ride a horse soaked in paint and has eyes of a distant phone light."
One night, she boiled the fur and then baked some cake.
It was the time to brave the punch.
Nobody was going to take away her hunch!
She heard a poke and an acne groan.
No, to eden! To eden! To eden!
When she opened the main door, the scent of ice shaved her mien.
"This will just make me look hideous,"she thought.
"I'm not a cycle!"
She closed the door. Now, she was afraid to leave and to stay.
Rather mourn as a ringtone and lie as a jester.
No one believed her.
Just because she did not told the story well.
Time to go home.
Dripping from the roof is the moisture for the family and animals for 1 whole day.
The sheep filed through the cottonwood gate.
The aardvarks came next, tiptoeing on the birds' isle and then proceed to float on the eye of the lake.
Hot crackling popped from the bird seeds and savaged corn cobs.
All trees and webs lost their sway to give breath to the farmer's daughter.
The miracle of the picturesque was all stolen by her.
The hair is unmatched with nature's colors.
Her rough, sticky, lavender gray curls.
Love is the black ants gathering for the flan, leaf-shaped.
She dips the lark in a pool of beet juice.
Glazed the firewood with snaps of her belting notes and wiped with trots of chameleon.
And the whole world glowed.
One time, the farm girl had too much fun
But does not know what day it is Neither the sun blinks
So hey, why not start expanding this farm?
Instead of an animal kingdom, a planetarium is forged.
He whispered, "I'm soft as a cloud."
He caressed, "I can give you everything."
He slashed, "I promise."
She knew. But, it was her ambition to have no ambitions.
The baby sheep were sleeping next door.
They were crying.
They were always crying.
Sometimes she wished they had less rights.
But the cries meant something else.
"Baby, why do you keep dying? Just walk already. I wish you were already 25 so you can feel alone."
Sundials were Sunday oranges to drink
Melting, melting, melting it until confessions became concessions.
Obsessed on breaking a patch of grass to look at her reflection. That is her only way to have a reflection.
Comb the grass up if she felt hazy.
Comb the grass down if she has the urge to joust.
Comb the grass everywhere to just forget every minute.
The figs were sagging and darkening. Yet, it was no tither season.
She wondered, "Is there even a mosquito that likes me? I always ride a horse soaked in paint and has eyes of a distant phone light."
One night, she boiled the fur and then baked some cake.
It was the time to brave the punch.
Nobody was going to take away her hunch!
She heard a poke and an acne groan.
No, to eden! To eden! To eden!
When she opened the main door, the scent of ice shaved her mien.
"This will just make me look hideous,"she thought.
"I'm not a cycle!"
She closed the door. Now, she was afraid to leave and to stay.
Rather mourn as a ringtone and lie as a jester.
No one believed her.
Just because she did not told the story well.
