Accordingly, it is beyond compare to see the good side of nature.
The lawless tapestry.
The aged knitted eclectic sweater.
When love was love.
Some recent days, paper-thin.
Deep and severing.
Attempts to witness the symmetry through distorted labor of love.
Lost than found.
No dispute…the essence of life is in the recovering.
Alas, gone is the quarrel to discuss when the summer winds turn to rust.
Never any disbelief in the pigment of soil beneath my feet.
In the wilderness…it is found, you can cripple the body.
Yet, not the mind.
I swore to love her.
A glutton of second-hand clothes.
Following the hidden lane down to antiquated storm’s afterglow.
Trespassing far pass restriction’s destiny.
No time to turn back to,
‘she did the polite thing.’
There is a majestic mustiness to nature I have yet to see.