Blogs
The same as where I sat
Hot 1 |
At the end of boat, undulating waves spreading over and over.
A greeting from friend, never met the scene as expected.
No trace of laddish impulsion, only the composedness bestowed from harshness.
Could it be called maturity as of baptism after through worldliness.
There is an answer made ever since the advent of originality.
Down upon the greatness, a slice of feeling stored against in bitter of perspiration.
Thousands of miles comes out the plain, barren becomes farmland.
Nostalgia repeatedly turning over and severely upon the chest.
Tonight, there is no tea. Let's have a bowl of defined grain wine.
