"muster" poems
can not be found in the flesh
For as warm it may be
As soft to your fingers it is
It will lay soft and cold eventually
can not be found in gold
Yes, it never loses its luster
But many coins you need to muster
And no number will fill the gap in your soul
can not be found in others
For the laughs may distract
The facade will crack
And still you will be empty inside
ilusive as it may be
It follows you around
It never left
For within you she rest
Waiting to be awoken
And while the rest might feel great
They serve as nothing but crutches
On your own you must stand
If you are to revel
On the pleasures life offers...
To improve one self
To look on path troded
It´s essence
To know there is more
With hunger jump forth
It´s rushes
To balance the mind
With the desire of the heart
It´s key
And once held in hand
You will understand
That happiness flies like a bird
But behind she left
Tranquility
And the knowledge
That you can get it again...
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 12:03 AM UTC
her hair blows back in the breeze
as she strolls down the sidewalk
between all the trees
with a smile that reveals
every one of her teeth
and the dimples
of her red, freckled cheeks
she's an angel, i think
her divine, secretive lips
shine in their glossiness
begging me for a kiss
i stand aback, watching
mesmerized by her beauty
only able to muster the words
'dat booty''
- jared huskey
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC
I could’ve woken you up in the morning and could’ve been the sun that rises even when we both live in a place where it never does.
I could’ve taken you to museums, at least 2 of where I’ve been to. The first one, we’ll have to take the bus because I’d tell you that I’m too lazy to drive but for the second one, I will tell you that I’ll drive you there.
My car would look at me as though it knows that there is another soul seating in the passenger seat – it was no longer some books, a box of pizza, or my dog.
I could’ve taken photos of you in that place, post them everywhere but subtly so that they can see that there are at least 2 forms of art in that photo — the one you’re looking at and the one I’m looking at.
I could’ve talked to you at night under the stars, in the same rooftop where I told you that I liked the cathartic experience of doing just what we could’ve done; the same rooftop where you talked about your life, at least some pieces of it.
I could’ve brought you to where I used to study. We could’ve walked the halls that stared at me for being too alone and too lonely only so I could tell them, “Hey, here he is, finally.” and they could’ve smiled at me because they know how long the longing lasted.
We could’ve taken a stroll in the shade of the trees or could’ve had a picnic there while watching the joggers and the sunset.
I could’ve introduced you to my friends – they’ve been meaning to meet you. They too know how long I’ve been stuck on an island by myself. They know who I was when I was eleven and when I was sixteen and I bet, if you gave them a chance, you could’ve heard the crazy things we did.
And maybe they could’ve liked you. They could’ve told me how lucky I was and probably would’ve warned me that if I hurt you, they’d stick with you instead of me.
I could’ve introduced you to my family — my mom liked you even then. I could’ve introduced you to my little brother who I would consider as the biggest and most important judge of character because I believe that children can sense goodness in people and he could’ve seen that in you.
I could’ve written you letters, could’ve left random little tokens I would've used for all the words I cannot muster to say.
I could’ve played the piano for you even if I just know, at most, 3 songs; even though I don’t really know how to read notes at all.
I could’ve introduced you to the artists I like and I could’ve known more of yours. I could’ve listened to them and I would have had to remember you every time.
I could’ve held your hand, could’ve eaten brunch with you, could’ve read you a poem.
I could’ve loved you — could have – if I was the given the chance.
But, I was and I could’ve used it but I didn’t.
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 11:01 PM UTC
You sat on the other end of the table
Glistening, shining, and taunting me
Rosy cheeks with spurts of Yellow and Green
Silently teasing
A juicy, little Apple.
Hopefully no one would see me, no one would pay any attention
As I grabbed the treat and the knife
And began to dangerously peel.
I knew I was doing it wrong
My hands shaking while my cheeks began to flush
Embarrassed by my ignorant inadequacy.
Are you left-handed? she asked from my left.
Humiliation filled the corners of my eyes, wet and distraught.
No, I mumbled. My cheeks reflecting Mose's Red Sea.
I was beginning to drown.
Your thumb needs to move, You make me nervous,
and she sounded nervous indeed.
Put it down here. Help yourself control it. Guide it.
Everyone was staring now, the whole table awed
My ignorance showing, like a medallion at my chest
My shameful Apple as pathetic proof.
You're doing it wrong.
Non così. Basta, faccio io.
Let me do it.
You're about to graduate, and you can't peel an apple.
I began choking, drowning in tears of Humiliation.
No, let her do it the small Voice on my left said.
She is finding her way. Let me watch her.
I finished peeling the Apple
Suffocating my tears as I ate.
You remind me of Daisy, she said soon after
From The Great Gatsby.
I choked and laughed, more ashamed than ever.
I'm not sure that is a compliment.
I could barely muster a mumble.
She couldn't do anything by herself.
She looked at me, gentle and forgiving.
I think it is, she replied
Wistful and Wise.
Daisy was vital to the story, you know.
And I believe that given the chance, she could have done anything that she wanted
On her own.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 6:27 PM UTC
In all my paralyzing confusion, only one thing is needed; in all my anxiety over my much less than ideal circumstances, only one thing is needed; in all my this-is-so-unfair discouragement, only one thing is needed; in my pressing-down-like-a-boulder-on-my-chest grief, only one thing is needed; in my feels-like-my-insides-are-being-scraped-out sorrow, only one thing is needed; in my falling-apart-at-every-seam life, only one thing is needed; in my can’t-seem-to-muster-the-will-to-get-out-of-bed depression, only one thing is needed; in my sure-I’m-finally-going-crazy state of mind, only one thing is needed; in my so-mad-I’ve-got-to-throw-and-break-something anger, only one thing is needed. In the scorning and tormenting face of rejection or betrayal or failure or devastating news or disfiguring disease or the worst fears of my heart coming to pass, only one thing is needed—to come and sit at Jesus’ feet and listen to what He is saying.
To entrust myself to Him, to acknowledge His presence with me, to submit myself to His perfect authority over me, to just look at Him and recognize His all-surpassing worth, to feast on Him, to wait for Him to speak and know that He longs to do so more than I long to hear it, to meditate on His Word and speak it back to Him both in praise and request and to ask Him exactly what it means for me right now, to be ready to respond to Him in obedience and follow him wherever or however He leads, to be willing to tune out every competing voice no matter how well-intentioned and to say “No!” to whatever He has not called me to, to believe that He cares deeply and passionately for me both in His emotion toward me and in His personal tending of me, to see that the details of my life matter even more to Him than they do to me and that He holds every one of them in His hands and is perfectly directing them for intimacy and glory, to refuse to be drawn away or worried or upset by the many preparations and distractions all around me by casting every burden down before Him and taking up His all-sufficient grace for every need, and above all to want Him more than anything and to let everything else fit into that all-pervasive desire—this is the ONE THING that is needed both now and throughout every season of my life, and if I will choose it, it will not be taken from me. It is the one thing worth fighting to the death for and will, no doubt, require just such a dying again and again and again...
Jul 24, 2017
Jul 24, 2017 at 7:27 PM UTC
I scream and I dream
I frown and I drown
A sea of melancholy engulfs me
The wave caresses my cheek, then passes by
As I begin to make my way down
I remember what I 'd forgotten
And people appear, crystal clear
Faces I knew
Bodies I touched
Souls I explored
They silently muster what I've become
Hollow features and lifeless limbs
They look like dolls grown up
There are more and more, until I lose count
They encircle me, one desperately tries to speak
Only to be silenced by the sea
Now they grab me by my arms and carry me down
to the bottom of the sea, where my feet touch ice cold ground.
Surrounded by statues of sand
your face lights up this dark place
like it always used to.
A confident gaze, a wry smile
you haven't left for a while
You've been here and I've been somewhere else
we've been in the same state, but never the same place.
You open your mouth and words break out
They sound artificial, like they're from a tape recorder
They echo back at me from everywhere in the sea
“He who travels to the bottom of the sea
Has learned oh so many things
But if he ever goes back up again
all those things he will forget.”
And now here I am
Alive and awake
Pouring cold water over my face
Staring in my bathroom mirror
and it stares back.
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 5:36 PM UTC
Love is a ***** soup going stale but steaming like it's brand new;
And I'm Oliver twist walking up to the *** with a rusty spoon full of desire and hope asking for more but getting none.
Love is a Doctor gathering dead bodies and shackling them up in chains;
And I'm a green freak with Frankenstein bolts ****** through my head walking around with only a mumble to muster trying to love people who just want to run away.
Love is a white paper rolled so finely, full of sedatives and drugs;
And I'm sitting by a fire reaching in for a log to smoke.
Love is puzzle made by Einstein and Sam Loyd;
And I'm a child with eyes made of glass and hands made of thorns crying to my mother because that puzzle is a *****
Love is Navy Seal training on a beach covered in cold water spilling blood for a chance;
And I'm a pot-smoking hippie who holds up signs and tells soldiers they’re monsters as I take a puff of death.
Love is a ten-syllable word compacted into one;
And I'm a hooked on phonics children’s thesaurus struggling to find a comparison that I can actually pronounce.
Love is a white egg timer sitting on the fridge set to all nines;
And I'm a busy housewife waiting to cook dinner at the sound of its bell.
Love is a robber with a 45 in his belt;
And I'm an eager dad trying to protect his family with a wooden stick.
Love is hot coffee from a luxury beverage shop;
And I'm a plastic party cup melting away.
Love is a doctor with a PHD in heart surgery;
And I'm a sick child waiting with his mother with no healthcare ******* on a free doctor’s-office lollypop.
Love is a huge pink eraser;
And I'm a graphite pencil struggling to write while me and the eraser fight.
Love is a pickup truck speeding through town drunk;
And I'm a lost puppy running through the same intersection looking for my owner.
Love is meant for fish;
And I'm a bird.
Dec 21, 2012
Dec 21, 2012 at 12:18 PM UTC
Muster up the words, "I beg you."
Form some kind of apology, please
This isn't you and you know it
Your heart is too warm to treat someone so cold
The breezy winds flow through your hair just as well as they do your emotions and you're making her feel like a helpless feather with no other choice but to get blown away
Even a simple goodbye would be better than this
Trust me, I know closure isn't really your thing, but she deserves at least something
Anything would do this situation justice, just please talk to her
This isn't you, please snap out of it
I know you've been hurt too many times to count and you're looking everywhere for something or someone to fill your voids but do not use innocent hearts as vices, they don't work like that
Don't rob someone of their feelings just because you have a hard time coping with yours
I know sometimes certain situations and feelings can be interpreted differently, but don't kid yourself, you know exactly what you're doing and quite frankly it's making me sick
You aren't perfect and neither is she, but the least you could do is offer her a bandaid when she needs one instead of drinking her blood and leaving a mess for her to cleanup afterwards without even calling her back
All of this is running like a train through my head when I look into my mirror and see myself start to tear up
The bags under my eyes hold all of the emotions that I try my best not to let out
It should be easier than this
Maybe it really is easy, and I'm just not used to change
I'm not sure about a lot of the things that are happening in my life
However, I am sure that I need to stop becoming a bad memory to others
It keeps me awake at night to think about all of the wrong I've done
That there are people whose only memory of me is how I was the worst for them and I don't want that
To my past friends and lovers, I can't say sorry enough
To my present friends and lovers, please don't give up on me; you are the reason I'm still trying
To my future friends and lovers, I hope by the time we meet, I am nothing less than perfect to you
I'm not used to change, but I could get used to being a good memory
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 1:33 AM UTC
Let me show you
All the words I cannot find.
Let me write them
On your neck in faded lipstick stains.
Close your eyes.
Listen to my shaking hands.
They have a code of their own,
One that only you can understand.
Listen to them rattle against your chest.
Feel the heat of my breath
Glide over your cheek.
Listen to what it’s telling you.
Feel my teeth tug at your bottom lip.
Let me get as close to you as I can
Without losing myself completely.
I can’t say this aloud.
Just listen to my body,
Decipher the language it speaks, wordlessly.
Somewhere in this mess,
The purest love I could ever muster.
A diamond
In all of our rough.
Nov 27, 2016
Nov 27, 2016 at 1:00 PM UTC
Millennials at Work and War
Scorn not the snowflake who stands watch for us
Now thrown into the existential struggle
Surrendering their youth and taking up life
They muster in the fields and factories
And in their elders’ undeclared, shadowy wars
Uniformed in an unappreciated sense
Of duty and dignity while scorned by those
Who take their ease upon the couches of sloth
And fling cheap mockery at millennials
Who take up tools and work and love of life
Sometimes to die in deserts still unmapped
While generals dismiss their casualties as light
Despised as snowflakes by keyboard commandos
Who never got closer to any war
Than a John Wayne ketchup-bloody movie.
Some work long double shifts through university
In a sawmill, shop, or fast foodery
Only to be dismissed as slacker layabouts,
But expected to trust those who condemn them
For not being the greatest generation
As defined by those who never served at all
And while being criticized they will grab
A quick cup of coffee for the night shift
Staffing the hospitals and police patrols
That keep their sneering critics alive and safe
They drive the trucks, they man the ships, they work
They drill for oil, these useless millennials
While idlers lounge long in the coffee shops
And YooToob computered jokes about them
Millennials have no time for coloring books
Or comfort animals or revolution
For they are weary with study and work
The best of them make no demands, but, sure
A little respect, hard-earned, would be nice
If only the scripted singer-songwriters
Would pack up the tired old stereotypes
And see millennials as they truly are
But darkness falls – they must go back to work
On the eleven-seven, the graveyard shift
They do not burn draft cards or Medicare cards
Instead through work they illuminate this world
And build it up with continued sacrifice
Scorn not the snowflake who stands watch for us
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 4:39 PM UTC
I hate death
The slow menancing presence
Always there
Biding its time
Counting down the time for us all
Not letting us in on the big secret
Not even a hint
Just culling us when he deems our time has come
My beautiful Nan
She's given up
She's not fighting anymore
She's ready to be taken
She's awaiting her flight leaving
She's lost her lust for life
She doesn't see all that's beautiful
Just darkness and misery within her mind
Her time is coming
She's wishing it here
She would probably be excited if she could muster the strength
Like children wish for Christmas
We all know he's coming
Like an unwanted family member
Never invited but has to come
He will arrive when we least expect him
Sneak in and take her from under our noses
She will walk hand in hand with this well known stranger
Enter the house I call home
Like a thief and take my most precious possession
The ticking of the clock counting down her time
Counting down our time with her
Removing the batteries changes nothing
Every minute, a minute less
Wiping tears away, calling out 'Cup of Tea, Nan?'
Hoping she will answer
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 12:00 PM UTC
We marched to the words of "We Shall Overcome"
courting justice to walk at our side,
seared into memory with the heat of sun
brothers and sisters, arms linked one to one
beneath that day star's unblinking eye,
we marched to the words, "We Shall Overcome."
We swore an oath to forego the gun,
to carry only freedom's cry
beneath the impassive afternoon sun,
through bludgeon and cudgel one by one,
each truncheon summoning others to rise,
to join in the words "We Shall Overcome."
As we embraced, the marching done,
a crosshairs trained a sniper’s eye
to wrench malice from the indifferent sun
to hew a path in blood and bone,
to rend flesh
and a rasping
fatal sigh . . .
in the fading caress of the afternoon sun.
Beneath the eternal arc of the sun,
again we will muster side by side,
a sanctified chorus, whose song will be sung,
let our marching echo...
"We Shall Overcome.”
Copyright © 2018 Gary Brocks
Conceived after visiting the LORRAINE HOTEL (Memphis, Tennessee), the site of the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Thursday, 4 April 1968.
In 1991 the NATIONAL CIVIL RIGHTS MUSEUM at the LORRAINE HOTEL was opened to the public.
"We Shall Overcome”, an anthem, title and refrain, of the American Civil Rights Movement of the mid 20th century.
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 4:18 AM UTC
I am not in the business of being you
or him or her or they
we doesn't even really interest me.
you hated me within the first 20 minutes
like a shallow predator
experiencing virginal danger
you have the limbic system of a prey
obvious to anyone in touch with their senses.
you were threatened-
you cracked a joke and among
the robotic laughter and among
the generic thoughts
I stood back, blank-faced
a novel piece of art you haven't the ability
to muster up the courage to understand.
aloud, I said it wasn't funny
which I'm sure your emptiness already betrayed
in a booming, and terrifying fashion
*(I'm an intellectual sadist-
I get off watching you squirm)*
you know enough, that you have no basis
that the status quo is the stale stream you do nothing but soak in.
you're superficiality is so pervasive
that your thoughts are unfilled, plastic
discarded long ago by anyone with stamina
(you're a carbon-copy of a Xeroxed person)
looking the same as the others of your degenerate breed
with much less vibrancy than the original
and far less worth.
your boundaries have been in place for so long
passed down by
generations
of
generations
of
generations
great-great-granddaddy's barbed wire is the only thing protecting your prejudice.
you're not funny- you're scared
ashamed and lonesome.
ashamed of the person you wish you could be
but don't have the strength-or the guts
to morph into
lonesome because even yourself is someone you don't feel close to
you are so basically human.
I have no pity.
for you are no Muse.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 10:07 AM UTC
I concede that the evening is bright,
That the dawn does not exist,
That leaves were meant to be brown to be beautiful,
That the sky will always stay blue.
The hurricane that came to be music,
Windy days that fanned flames.
Can you catch my sighs and I'll keep your whispers,
So nostalgic is your croon.
I taste the skins with whiffs of pepper and plum,
Where my senses rise leaving me lost amongst the stars,
Giving a glimpse of the eternity of the galaxy,
Will your lips feel this way?
Like the sights of autumn foliage in portraits,
I only wonder about your touch,
Muster memories, scenes and scenes,
Until you're mine not just in dreams.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC
waiting for some white winged fantasy to fall
from the sky, landing half dead before my feet
and lead me away
to caves
back to morocco
to long tombs where chilled in our cartilage we could
await dawn.
tired from numbers, tired with names
all I ever muster is to sleep, warm and alone
wishing to be cold again
wishing for winter, to know dark without end
wishing to watch the city lights from the reservoir
churning through cigarettes, heads hung
and sunrise on hooks.
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 4:46 PM UTC
Inaction in action
A most frightening thing
Eyes flash from green to brown
Was that a smile or one of your cute frowns?
I can’t tell up from down
In this vacant hole
I feel like I am supposed to remember
Impact has dried up
Like a drought that makes farmers
Wonder if their crop ever did flourish
Or if the dust simply snuck into their heads
With paintbrushes and vivid imaginations
Of what fresh picked berries once tasted like
I want to run
Faster than ever to where I once was
To where my emotions began
To when a kiss was still intoxicating
And you smiled at clasped hands
Mirrors in my mind turn
Reflections of you blur
Engraved lessons I’ve learned
Were you ever my home?
I trace the walls of your character
Each knot and groove familiar
Reflexive fingertips
Gliding over walls as they turn inside out
I forgot what all this was about
Do I long for a light that once shown
Or just another culpable excuse
To regain the throne
My wishful thinking kingdom
Though my senses are honed
To both authenticity and mirage
I fear I am equally prone
Even so.
If…
If you were ever
Or still are
And we cross paths again
Or maybe for the first time
Kiss me with your brown eyes
Or were they green?
And I will try my best to recognize
A love I fear I’ve never seen
But I can’t muster pursuit when consciousness is stolen by a dream
Inaction in action
Is a most frightening thing
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 11:25 PM UTC
I failed to save another soul today.
On my high patrol, I heard their last gasps leave their lips,
and I let their salvation get away
slipping through my super-powered fingertips.
If I can write assurance to a thousand souls lost, humorous and witty
"If I muster all the words that I know," I thought, "Surely I can save this city."
But life can't be measured by honeyed words, and it's agony to see
the souls' salvations that I'm missing beneath my red-caped nobility.
Even if I flew higher still, with my cape waving proud and free,
no great power I could bring to bear could match my responsibility.
For every orphan girl I save, there's another not too far afield.
For every chain broken, for every freed slave, there are chains that will not yield.
I'd fly around the world and turn back time, but I know t'would be in vain.
What's a single Superman to do, when the whole world cries to be saved?
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 8:08 PM UTC
Five years ago
I knew an 8th grader
who felt ashamed for who he was
who felt constantly out of place
who tossed and turned at night
with deep enough despairs
with ideas of throwing it all away
with plans for those actions
with no dreams, and only one long nightmare
Three years ago
I knew a sophomore
who finally just started to accept it
who reached out and tried
who thought everyone felt the same
with only blank stares for replies
with only confused "friends"
with no family backing
with no true "inner circle"
Last year
I knew a senior
who carried the burden alone
who perfected his mask
who finally learned how to hide
with perceived success
with sarcasm and quick jokes
with pushing everyone away
with justified fear of opening up
This year
I know a college freshmen
who is struggling for acceptance of himself
who brags of the physical scars
who is afraid to reveal the deeper ones
with walls as big as he could muster
with iron bars to conceal what is beneath
with pandora's box within
with that same scared kid locked inside.
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 12:31 AM UTC
I love you much with every ounce this heart could muster
I love you such yours is what my heart's trailing after
I'd love your touch even if it'll cause me shatter
Into a million shards yet still it does not matter
A mere breath and you will meld me back together
With every shatter and every meld makes me stronger
It's bitter sweet but I'd do it over and over
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 2:37 AM UTC
I look in the mirror
and see a wonderful girl
with big brown eyes and short brown hair
I smile, what a contagious smile
I can't help but smile even broader
I muster my body
I think of all the perfect thin models
and embrace myself out of joy for not looking like them
I love all my weird habits
as well as my beautiful
character traits
and I love the fact that I'm
completely unperfect.
I appreciate everything
my life offers for me,
I am grateful for every instant
I am able to enjoy my surroundings.
I have to admit
I have fallen
deeply in love
with myself.
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 3:48 PM UTC
She puts on a sun dress
Trying to emphasize the lumps on her chest
But no amount of makeup or even a bow
Can distract from the fact that her self esteem's low
She's ugly and she knows it
She's bitter and she shows it
Keep writing your chicken scratch and waving it high
As all of the people keep passing you by
You crave their attention and desire their praise
But they just keep on walking, ignoring you for days.
So she pulls down her collar to an all new low
Trying to put on a better show
They have no more pity for the girl with short hair
They just can't seem to muster a single care
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 9:39 PM UTC
There was a fly who only had one eye.
He lived a simple life on the River wry.
One day the fly with only one eye began to cry.
I'm very lonely he said to himself, I feel as though I've been left on the shelf.
From out of nowhere an Elf appeared, an Elf who had only one ear.
Your not alone the Elf did shout, come on over let's hang out.
The Fly with one eye flapped his wings and said loudly so the Elf with one ear could hear, I'm going to try to fly to the other side of the river wry.
The Elf with one ear said do not fear I'll be your eyes and you'll be my ears.
But half way across the Fly with one eye gave a big sigh and said to the Elf with only one ear, I do fear that I will not finish the ride to the other side of the river wry.
Do not fear said the Elf with only one ear. With my perfect eyes I can see that half way across in the middle of a bog on a log are a frog and bee, surely they will help me.
The Elf with only one ear shouted loudly to the frog and bee, can you please help me?
The frog and the bee shouted back "gladly". But the Elf who only had one ear could not hear the reply from the middle of the river wry.
The Fly with one eye heard the reply and shouted as loudly as he could muster "the frog and bee have agreed gladly to help you and me"
The Elf with one ear was relieved to hear this and set about outlining his plan.
The Fly with one eye would flap his wings and start his trip across the river.
The frog would jump up and down on his lily pad and make a noise which sounded like ribbit, ribbit, the Fly with one eye and the Elf with one ear would use the frog for direction, tuning into it.
Once the Fly with one eye had passed the frog by the bee would set about buzzing loudly, the fly with one eye and the Elf with one ear would follow the buzzing to the edge of the river.
The plan worked the Fly with one eye gave a shout hip hip hip hooray.
The Elf with one ear gave three cheers and the frog and the bee clapped merrily.
Hooray said the Fly with only one Eye and the Elf with only one Ear, let's get all our friends together and bake a cake to celebrate.
The Fly with one eye looked at his friends and knew that life would never be quite the same now he could count on his new found friends, the Elf with one ear and the frog and the bee were like one big family.
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 5:40 PM UTC