Always bound on the way to go
Retard eyesight towards the flow
Fire, flower what's pretended to be great
Nothing but it's uglier offenders threat
Paid papers are always in due side
Even they fly as your colored kite.
All the dangling birds are full and fair
Resting grief only I count those fairly air.
Tuesday, February 5, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: feelings,grief ,love