Peach Poem by Deaner Alexander
Peach
The maketh secret of a garden peach ripe of maple brown syrup. Spolding of greatness of a better sunshine. It's only right you must walk up to this talking tree only to find there's nothing there, but air. Dust buster rugged carpet mist of rain spraying crazy lies of whispering secrets of this unpredictable world, but our garden is still left unknown of this ripe peach.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/30/2024 9:55:23 AM # 1.0.0.1119
