it,s cold. the feathersofearth. generous
soil. raw roar son. you were the first.
i was and also.
i was the last. more acutely the chattering of teeth.
do sound a bit ok. but i don't loveit;
what a lovely box. piney naught. smooth wood supple rectangle.
she will rest. it,s the sound of jets. cut the timid ministers voice.
i did know you. yet not;
still, for thee, a tear. i do shed. go to the quiet. maybe we,ll meet again
some
Jul 28, 2010
Jul 28, 2010 at 11:22 AM UTC
it,s cold. the feathersofearth. generous
soil. raw roar son. you were the first.
i was and also.
i was the last. more acutely the chattering of teeth.
do sound a bit ok. but i don't loveit;
what a lovely box. piney naught. smooth wood supple rectangle.
she will rest. it,s the sound of jets. cut the timid ministers voice.
i did know you. yet not;
still, for thee, a tear. i do shed. go to the quiet. maybe we,ll meet again
some
Request permission to use this poem