Once was a little kind bird who live into the Mideastern tree, filled of red rose coming alive and survive, how many numbers of five, one of them transform blackened suit man to be supernatural hero, the hat truly fit perfectly over his own head, eventually sunglasses too, he admired to skip through the uptown himself alone, catch some other smallest bone of his poetical body, he loves being on rhythmical stage, the upbeat man who willing to speak his typical words of wisdom and freedom, his wings were flying gracefully up and down several-time straight thoroughly in creativity mindful brains, not in remained chains out there in the west end
Written by
Michael James Brindley
4-8-19
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