"jog" poems
Do I relate to the post-postmodern
True-life voodoo incomes are hard-earned
If I put a hyphen between words
Does that spawn a new one like lovebirds
Isn't love the same word that I saw
Don't crows live like bandits and outlaws
Don't they have the outlook of bourgeois
Carry stolen crackers in their claws
There's no change that I couldn't change
Every change that I change always stays the same
I wanna sing with a slingshot serenade
I wanna donate change to a masquerade
I wanna die while I'm in the spotlight
I want my death to inspire a rewrite
I want to blur the lines of insight
I want to make them think that I'm their height
So give me all your red green yellow blue
If you can find a pool then I'll refract with you
You're a mirage and your favorite color's see-through
You're my fata morgana from this point of view
Are there any words for my freakshow feelings
Isn't sugarcoated terminology appealing
Wouldn't it be easier to represent the meaning
Of a hard to swallow concept with an arbitrary ceiling
Cryptic cultish crease in the catalog
Paranoia backtrack to analog
I can run much faster than I can jog
Magic circle summoning Chernobog
I can break the barrier of sound and space
With these essential elemental explanations in your face
But it doesn't matter everything I say will go to waste
Because the power of the mind is putting power out of place
Hindsight reflecting, teenagers texting
Late to the punch with the big money flexing
Let's settle this with a match in the ring
Or a match to the rope of a cannon firing
I wanna die while I'm in the spotlight
I want my death to inspire a rewrite
I want to blur the lines of insight
I want to make them think that I'm their height
I wanna hypnotize and paralyze
I wanna make them think that I'm their size
I wanna break their spirits drink their blood
I wanna **** their souls I wanna **** them good
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 7:58 PM UTC
Did you know that if you don't stretch in the correct way, you might end up thwarting the entire purpose of your workout and suffer unwanted injuries?
Doing pre-workout stretches thoroughly will determine whether you are benefiting from your workout or whether it's worsening your muscle tear. Here are the major stretching crimes that you should never commit.
Not doing a proper warm-up
According to gym instructors worldwide, this is the most commonly committed crimes in any gym. A warm-up is a must before any kind of workout — cardio or weights — and must ideally last at least 12-15 minutes.
Assuming that stretching is a warm-up
Stretching and warming up is not the same. You need to warm up first, before you are ready to stretch. A slow jog or brisk walking on the treadmill is a good warm-up.
Rushing through your stretching exercises
Stretching should be for the entire body. You cannot skip any parts. Involve stretches that work your lower back, shoulders, calves, stomach, quads etc. You should not move from one stretch to the other in very quick succession because that may cause untoward injuries. Try to hold each stretch for 20 seconds. When you breathe deeply and hold the stretch, your muscles get trained to tolerate the maximum that your limbs can go to.
Giving stretching a skip after a workout
You have done an hour of strenuous exercise and now you just want to rush out of the gym; that is a huge mistake. Spend some time bending and stretching after your sweat session. Then, do a cool down before you leave the gym.
Not stretching every day
You need to be your flexible best always and that can only happen if you stretch daily, even on the days that you aren't gymming. This ensures that your gym days are more fruitful and that you make the most of them.
Not breathing properly
Breathing right is a very important aspect of stretching. Breathe naturally while you inhale through your nose, expand your rib cage and upper abdomen as you fill in your lungs. When exhaling, breathe out through your mouth, preferably making an audible sound. This relaxes you. While stretching, you need to breathe out when you are exerting, that is, when you are actually contracting your muscles.
Doing static stretches
Never stand still and do stretches that work only one muscle. You should rather do stretches that work a group of muscles — like a lunge that stretches your upper hamstring muscle, your ankles and also your glutes.
Ignoring pain while stretching
When you are in the middle of a stretch and you feel pain, stop immediately and consult an expert. Your stretch should make you feel a gentle pull only, not immense pain. If you are hurting, you are doing it wrong. Rest a few days and then go back to working out under a qualified trainer.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 5:40 AM UTC
If I were a boy
I would have so much less fear
I wouldn't always have to look behind my back
And be wary of who I choose to keep near
I wouldn't have to be scared about being assertive
When the guy who's flirting with me makes me disconcerted
If I were a boy
I could go out for a jog
And run in a remote area
I could go hiking and camping all alone
And not have to worry
About being ***** and murdered
If I were a boy
I wouldn't have to question what clothes I wear
Hiding myself under layers,
Because I'm scared
That I'll be abused and ravaged
If I'm attrative
If I were a boy
Reading the news about
The **** and ****** of women
Might not affect me as much as it does
It wouldn't make me reconsider
If I should go outside today,
Ride my bike alone today
Make sure the door is locked and the alarm is set
So hopefully I can get my rest
Without fearing for my life
If I were a boy
Maybe I wouldn't imagine
What it's like to be a woman
Going about her life,
Suddenly attacked by a stranger,
Struggling for her dignity and then her life
Dying under the crushing force of hatred in her killer's eyes
If I were a boy
I wouldn't understand the reasons why a woman would be scared to be a woman.
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 5:47 PM UTC
Trash can, wastebasket;
the place we throw it all away.
Used tissues--soggy mascara, dried *****
or the babies that would never be,
and the heaps of food waste, human waste.
Wasted human.
Why do we take ourselves and the people we used to love,
toss people and our person deep within a hole of shame,
darkness, misery, guilt, worry, frustration, fear?
If someone only said to you, or to me, when we dig deep
into the ground and find the place no one will find us
or them, the people we are burying--
if they only said,
"You are not trash."
Our emotions refuse to become refuse, the remains of
being unwanted, as we perceive ourselves to be.
But we is just me, and even though I can't hear the voice
I long to hear above my own, the sounds reverberate in my chest,
next to my heart, where I heard them last.
The last time we spoke your fingers did not reach for mine.
Your jeans did not rip in the same one spot.
The dog that I picked that you picked after you went back,
his tail wagging all the way on the ride back to his new home,
did not kiss my face and my eyes and ears like he loves to do.
Even though you didn't still love me, you did before,
now thrown hastily, yet decidedly in the trash can outside your door.
I dropped off the last remnant of your physical being,
an old rabbit-eared antennae.
I didn't, couldn't look in your trash can,
or stand in the driveway longer than was needed to drop and run
the hell away from crumbling gravel, a window newly aluminum foiled, and the motorcycle kept under surveillance at all times.
I hope he looked on his camera screen and saw walking,
talking, feeling, breathing human trash gliding
down the sidewalk, feet pattering into a jog.
The grass licked my feet and tangled in my toes on the way
to the one place my sighs could sink lower than my feet,
deep into the warm upholstery of my car seat, the grandma car,
the dented, imperfect, but mostly reliable car
away, far away, to a place where someone would look curiously,
pick up the trash, my trash, me, and say,
"It's beautiful."
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 12:04 AM UTC
i very much enjoyed
jogging around the grass
with you
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 3:51 PM UTC
Panda Express
Good going down
Hmm
Too filling now it seems
I feel the need to go jog it off
And eat some fruit
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 11:44 PM UTC
This is Mrs Unknown.
She likes to roam
the rainbow
at night
or in her dreams
And fly with her razor fingers
splayed like the falling stars
whos dust cascades
from the Heavens
into her fried egg eyes.
She likes to ballet
dance across the unwinding
circled junctions, like the moon, and
Sing song while her trainers jog
in rhythm to the bells and belts of starlight.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 3:52 PM UTC
Lake Michigan is bare again,
because all the boats are taken
out of the docks until spring
time comes around again.
Lake Michigan looks beautiful with
it is blue color and the sun shining over it,
people walk along the beach and the waves
crash upon the beach.
There is nothing more beautiful to me
than Lake Michigan.
Lake Michigan is peaceful because there is
nothing in the water, people don't picnic along
the side of the beach and only a few joggers jog
along the side of the beach.
Lake Michigan is peaceful to them and to me.
Lake Michigan will come back to live in May,
when Spring time shows her beautiful face,
when everything is green and growing by
the gardens by Lake Michigan.
But as for now, Lake Michigan she sleeps,
waiting for spring time to come to her
so she may awake.
Oct 24, 2011
Oct 24, 2011 at 11:24 AM UTC
Soccer season arrives, you’re excited until you start waking up at 6:30 a.m. every day during the summer. As the first game is on, you arrive expecting to play just to realize you’re warming up the bench. It’s not a big deal, it’s still August and it’s easier to tan while sitting down. It isn’t until you’re laying there camouflaging between the soccer bags; laying like a lizard taking the sun in that your coach yells for you to jump in. You scramble up and trip between bags and ***** making your way to the sideline. You do the final stretches and make your way in awkwardly lifting your hand to high-five your teammate coming out who misses it completely. Then it’s game on, it is time to start playing. But that is not how it goes. 15 minutes into the game you realize you have roamed the same 15 square foot area all this time. I got the ball once, I controlled it on my feet. Yeah, I know. Unfortunately when I turned the ball found it’s way between my legs and fell into the opposite player. ****** I’m getting a good tan though; I think I was supposed to get that pass, I slowly jog towards it. Should I? Well now the ball is gone. Let’s go back to my 15 square foot area; my legs are tired. I see the ball coming from up in the air, I’ve never done this. I’m running, just keep running. No, that’s the sun not the ball. There’s the ball, jump, jump. jump. I jump and a 200 pound guy crashes with me, I’m on the floor. Done.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 2:48 PM UTC
Watching life’s play,
From the nosebleed section.
If I die today,
It’s natural selection.
I hear what people say,
But don’t make the connection,
The past fades away,
To a vague recollection.
99 problems,
No retorts or solutions,
Trying to pay my bills,
Without resorting to prostitution.
Losing is a life lesson,
Hard to learn,
It’s a truth I mention,
In no uncertain terms.
They say if you get knocked down,
Get back up,
But sometimes when I’m knocked out,
I’ve had enough.
My drive and ambition,
Is out of gas,
But I’m stuck in my position,
Can’t change the past.
They said, “It’s okay chum,
There’s a future to make.”
But no, it’s okay son,
I choose not to partake.
I’m on the road of life,
Just taking a jog,
But I can’t run right,
Cause I’m an underdog.
I know I’m not perfect,
I’ve made mistakes,
But I really do deserve it,
So give me a break.
Girlfriend told me,
I’d never succeed.
I choked at her,
Cause I forgot to breathe.
I was told to walk,
Off the beaten track,
I talk one step forward,
Then whisper two steps back.
I’ve been made a fool,
I’ve played the clown,
I never broke the rules,
But I still broke down.
When I look in the mirror,
To examine my features,
It brakes when brought nearer,
So I pick up the pieces.
You know I don’t deal,
In self depreciation,
So what you find here,
Is honest estimation.
I’m not clever as Copernicus,
Or strong as King Kong,
Even when you’re learning this,
You knew it all along.
I’m on the road of life,
Drifting through the fog,
But I can’t see tonight,
Cause I’m an underdog.
Aug 30, 2010
Aug 30, 2010 at 4:13 PM UTC
His name is Zachary James
But he's shouted at by many names
Running man or crazy jogger
Pushing all he needs in a stroller
Dodging cars like a game of Frogger
His passion for running is a benefactor
Of his compassion for humanity
Running across the country is insanity
Knows politics better than Sean Hannity
A motor city kid and an Eastern Michigan grad
Thought he'd run to correct a world gone mad
Our paths crossed on the vicious highway 322
If you're lucky, fate will send him your way too
I'm proud to host such a fine young philanthropist
But soon he'll run off into the mysterious mist
Yet he will jog on proud and steadfast
With our help reaching his goals at last
Run for the children and for the love of running
Run for life and eternity hereafter coming
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 2:59 PM UTC
Fields stretch, of paper white
And grey as day is losing light
Alone I rally muscles fight
So I be home before the night
Wind will chill me gill to gill
As ice will render muscles still
Sheltered not from cruel chill
So I will make my journey still
Long I jog, through howling clatter
Jaw wont move, unless to chatter
Hearing sweat drops frozen, shatter
Movement warms my sleepy matter
Locomotive losing speed
Juggernaut has lost the need
Lifeless muscles need to feed
Yet still i beg them, "forward heed!"
In the distance- lights are lit!
I call, but silenced in a fit
My throat is scratched by icy spit
As I collapse in snow,
that's it.
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 9:29 AM UTC
You’ve read of several kinds of Cat,
And my opinion now is that
You should need no interpreter
To understand their character.
You now have learned enough to see
That Cats are much like you and me
And other people whom we find
Possessed of various types of mind.
For some are same and some are mad
And some are good and some are bad
And some are better, some are worse—
But all may be described in verse.
You’ve seen them both at work and games,
And learnt about their proper names,
Their habits and their habitat:
But
How would you ad-dress a Cat?
So first, your memory I’ll jog,
And say: A CAT IS NOT A DOG.
And you might now and then supply
Some caviare, or Strassburg Pie,
Some potted grouse, or salmon paste—
He’s sure to have his personal taste.
(I know a Cat, who makes a habit
Of eating nothing else but rabbit,
And when he’s finished, licks his paws
So’s not to waste the onion sauce.)
A Cat’s entitled to expect
These evidences of respect.
And so in time you reach your aim,
And finally call him by his NAME.
So this is this, and that is that:
And there’s how you AD-DRESS A CAT.
3.2k
Don’t you like a chocolate?
A foggy morning jog; over the windward side of the snowing hill,
Accompanied by the silence of my lovely girl.
Suddenly a drop; falling from a sky high teak,
Soaking her rose-bud cheek.
Eyes on her cupid’s bow; Were thirsty ‘coz her lipstick frost,
Needing for a lip to moist.
That was the time; I lived up from the day I saw,
This angel, with a dropping jaw.
Came close we two; almost locking a tight lip kiss,
But what made that a chance to miss?!
Confused, my girl; Perplexed by my bizarre act;
Peeping places, I was looking at.
Why did I stop? A Choco Donut shop at left,
The reason for my eyes to shift.
Piercing the bread, I licked the sauces off the knife
What else do I want in life? :P
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 12:40 PM UTC
It was 29° (f) degrees this morning with a waning gibbous (¾) moon. Still, as we started our run, it was dark enough that the world was rendered in black and white. Lisa was a sepia print of herself while Charles was a large, quiet shadow, a dark visual noise pattern.
We usually jog from our dorm, down to and along New Haven Harbor and back. Lisa and I love the ocean. The wind was in our faces this morning and there were no sparkling moon refractions in our direction, which made the water musou and colorless.
I’ve gotten my outfit down to a science, leggings under shorts, four long sleeve, dry-wicking spandex tops (layering is important), a power-wool-earflap-beanie, thermal neck gaiter and quantum, icebreaker gloves (with touch-screen compatibility) - you gotta dress warmly but be able to shed layers as needed.
I listen to audiobooks while we run. Right now I’m on book 5 of the ‘The Expanse’ series. I don’t have time to read anything fun these days, so I listen to science-fiction/fantasy while I workout. I love the new AirPod Pro feature that automatically turns the sound down if anyone talks.
I wear a fitbit charge around my right ankle and my Apple watch as well - they both track my run - the fitbit is more accurate but my watch sends my workout stats to my siblings - we’re uhh, sort of competitive.
At first, as we came up on the harbor, it was impossible to see the intersection of the two dark oceans - the great terrestrial and the greater galactic - but as we turned for home, there was an atmospheric scatter of blue at the edge of the horizon, heralding the sunrise on our retreating backs.
musou = one of the darkest shades of black
Nov 2, 2023
Nov 2, 2023 at 7:41 PM UTC
A classy kind of car ride:
1950's radio station at a comfortable volume.
10 minutes later and we arrive.
Sun block on.
Sneakers tied.
Water bottles in hand.
Round and round the lake we go.
Just he and I.
The sun is yellow
The grass is green
The sky is blue
All the colors in their rightful place.
It's more like a walk filled walk
than a talk filled walk,
but that's the way we like it best.
No small talk here.
Just big talk for us:
the speed of light,
the start of humanity,
the purpose for our existence.
Otherwise, we just walk
oh and sometimes we jog too...
(His legs are long,
so sometimes I have to jog
in order to keep up.)
We have our own routine
our own system
our own pace.
Just he and I
Just he and I
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 11:26 PM UTC
the belt around her waist,
mimicked your pale hands
forming an "o,"
while your fingertips meet.
though I told myself
my curves are as gorgeous
though your fingers never graced
anything thinner than my wrists
or the neck of your guitar
i felt my cheeks drain of blush
and replace with the color
of the grass
i rather lay in
than jog through
because the only sweat
i'd like to break
tastes like yours
and mine
and ours in a kiss
while your fingertips meet
around each one
of my *******
and inside me
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 12:57 PM UTC
Bring me to life
Let in the light
Free my tormented soul
As I wait,
Alone with this empty horizon.
Slowly, but surely
Loneliness fades as the mountains rise up to meet me
Billowing above
Silhouetted across the sky
Stoic and unmoving
Their life runs so deeply across the earth
Without the posions of fear and hate
To disrupt their simplicity
And their complexity
They are pure existence
And this moment is everything
So I join them.
Air coats my throat and fills my lungs
Allowing the vibration of energy
Radiating from all that surrounds me
To dance across my skin
Through my body and
Into my bloodstream
I am by myself on this road
But I cannot feel lonely
Every inch of nature that surrounds me
Has invited me into their energy
Into their space and sense of freedom
Pure acceptance
No judgement
From the wisps of white dancing through blue shades of infinity
To the neverending marathon of greenery, fields and shrubs jog to the edge of forever
I cannot be alone
As my heartbeat joins the rhythm of the universe
Apr 30, 2019
Apr 30, 2019 at 12:34 PM UTC
Dear Whiny Fat *****
Stop whining you fat *****
I don't find your curve(s) beautiful as it falls short of feminine,
breast and hip bring forth lust like a tray of holiday cookies,
helpful internet sayings are fatty hoe-deurves
you devour them,
greedy mouths pointed teeth digging in to every bit of it because why work hard when you can talk loud?
Why go for a jog when you can misquote Marilyn?
Why choose the salad when the big mac's just as beautiful?
It's not
I do not envy gluttony,
I do not envy sloth,
I do not lust for them.
double zero may not be attractive but throwing a 2 in front of it is fatty-icing on the cake,
so talk about "oppression" while you scoff down more than Ebo and his family have had in a week,
starvation and desperation dancing intertwined tip-toeing around his house,
he wakes up one morning to his sons tears because all he's had is a slice of bread
while you decide to treat yourself to an ice cream cus' you didn't supersize today
You can call me an *******
let molten words flick from your tongue,
lace'm with lava and let them fly
but at the end of the day you only have yourself to blame
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 12:51 AM UTC
Five little girls, of Five, Four, Three, Two, One:
Rolling on the hearthrug, full of tricks and fun.
Five rosy girls, in years from Ten to Six:
Sitting down to lessons - no more time for tricks.
Five growing girls, from Fifteen to Eleven:
Music, Drawing, Languages, and food enough for seven!
Five winsome girls, from Twenty to Sixteen:
Each young man that calls, I say "Now tell me which you MEAN!"
Five dashing girls, the youngest Twenty-one:
But, if nobody proposes, what is there to be done?
Five showy girls - but Thirty is an age
When girls may be ENGAGING, but they somehow don't ENGAGE.
Five dressy girls, of Thirty-one or more:
So gracious to the shy young men they snubbed so much before!
Five PASSE girls - Their age? Well, never mind!
We jog along together, like the rest of human kind:
But the quondam "careless bachelor" begins to think he knows
The answer to that ancient problem "how the money goes"!
2.5k
Alarm - 7:30AM
Gonna cook.
Eggs. Bacon.
Read the paper.
Jog in the park.
Be productive.
I'll... I'll...
***** it.
Alarm - Off.
Gonna sleep.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 12:43 AM UTC
the cuckoo still sings
over the traffic smoke,
children still carve
forts by the sea,
gulmohars still bloom
over the widening road,
you could still stir early,
jog through frozen silences,
travel for an hour, still
bathe under a waterfall,
walk up a ruined hill fort,
watch the falling of meteors,
you could still save yourself,
here in this decay and filth,
you could dig up a little earth,
and ply a little ***** on it,
feed it like a little child,
and make a tree out of it...
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 10:58 AM UTC
The is my commune.
This is my sanctum.
It's transforming into something solid.
Somehow, the back cracks before it's due.
And I'm left with this twisted image of you.
My oh my.
How you have grown.
This body is something that you have never know.
You'll walk on my shadows and I suppose that I'll tug you along.
Churning masses that never happen.
I don't want you to stay here, but where would you go?
I'm not sure how to respond to this repertoire, this power play of sort.
I do what I do best, I'll turn my back on yours.
I'll fold you up and tie you to a carrier pigeon's leg, let it take you away.
The bag lady will feed you in the city park.
You'll cluck and duck like the rest of them.
Naked on the cold cement sidewalks eating bird food with your tiny little beak.
No one will see you but me.
And I don't care.
I'll jog right past your groveling hands.
You won't remember me, I'll be a dream in some forgotten land.
Go hide your head under your wings.
The dove that is the loudest, isn't always the most lovely when he sings.
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 1:06 PM UTC
I'm sorry, I don't remember you, what was your name? Funny how you can't remember who I am yet you were my world at one point.
An introduction wil sufice, my name is sea, yours must be moon because I'm steady drawn to you while you taunt me with your perfection.
bless me with the smile I'm used to and I may give you the carress of which you've been forgetting so it may jog your memory.
Do you still not recognize me? Perhaps a slight lock of the lips... Welcome back love, I've missed you far too much.
If only life were as simple as the above described, maybe then I might see her. The soul of a butterfly, the heart of a pheonix, yet a love with the strength of a thousand hearts.
She is my counterpart, a taboo to none but I, She.. the... god. My goddess of whom I've been missing. I welcome her with an open heart and a spacious view of her love.
I get on my knees in worship of my goddess, only to thank the lord for her. My personal blessing and I shall pay homage to her every chance I get.
To hold her, you can't imagine. She's the warmth of the sun, the sweetness of a black cherry, the softness of fresh picked cotton, yet ironically as cool as a glass of ice water to one parched and decrepit.
I'm in love, no, yes, no. What's the conflict? Why does it matter?
Am I not a the earth? Is she not a moon to me, or beter yet, an extension of my personal self? She satisfies the need for intimacy better than those before her and yet I can't think straight. Is this supposed to happen?
Mutual love. What I needed, she provided like a mother and child. Yet we're still at a disconnect.
She said we're romeo and juliet, did she not see the ending? or did that tell all I needed to know? I think not. She was a representation of what the heart wants, and the heart wants what it wants.
Sugar brown placid beauty, rest your head once more on my shoulders as we rest in a sunset meant for the long-hall and discuss what is meant to be of our distantly close relationship.
Pray we make it and kiss me goodbye, for when all is said and done no games shall we play but still bet it all against the odds.
Do you remember me? Nevermind colleague, we are in a multi-verse all our own.
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 11:52 AM UTC
WIMBLEDON COMMON
Wimbledon common
Was always the place to go,
Catching the train from Streatham
The family all aglow,
Sandwiches in a paper bag
Thermos in a sack,
Plastic sandels and tennis racket
Not forgetting the cricket bat.
Everyone was skippy
The sun high in the sky,
Dad had his umbrella
But the rain was shy,
Jumping from the platform
Down a row of steps,
Brother took a tumble
And that was that.
Plasters in a pocket
All was mended soon,
Finally recovered
Felt over the moon,
Reached the grassy stretches
Whoops mind the dogs,
Come away from the lovers
They're out for a jog.
Find a shiny tree trunk
Horizontal on the ground,
Four happy people
Tuck in to raspberry jam,
Now for the thermos
Plastic cups ahead,
Here come the wasps
To eat our jam and bread.
Later penguin biscuits
And a trip behind the bin,
Dad puts out the wickets
Let's see who wins,
After a quiet session
Brother looses his cool,
Slings the bat skyward
You should see it go,
Mother looked upwards
Covering her head,
Just managed to miss it
Landing on the hedge.
I went off walking
To gather pretty flowers,
Dad hid under the paper
We had a quiet hour,
Clouds gathering slowly
The sun going down,
What a lovely day in the country
We're now homeward bound.
In memory and gratitude to my lovely mum and dad
Grace and Eric Ayton- Robinson who always did their best.
Love Mary **
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 10:47 AM UTC