Mom was doing racking piles of leaves in a obliviate rows on the infamously garden grass, actually, I grabbed those springless handful leaves over the one biggest brownish lookalike bags openly, only one older sister, she brightens her afternoon smiles, she creating a new firepit going nonstop beautified, I'd untied my shoes off, washing my soapy warm hands, making hot chocolate without whip cream or marshmallow's, went down my sockless feet, and plug my lower back machine, and writeable poems about the today's day before and therefore, usually, I wear my waste blackened strapped machine, it works handily, but, it doesn't work at all, during the day and night, my preheated pad I have to use, it was to die for or what, I have certain good service phone from downstairs, every time the service can be untwined a little
Written by
Michael James Brindley
4-11-20
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