You've got the classy table, you've got the old fashioned chair to sit, depend on the secondary hand notebook, the third rate hand computer to type away nonstop action, to check the words were out of reach, observed the beach to make sound effect of waves completed, how many voices came and echoing the breezy winds everywhere in thin obtain air, obliviate the rhythm, to sync above, on the easy track of love, it's alright to soak up as many of dove, you wouldn't shove the nastiest snow has fallen undergrounds, not the whited fang hounds, all poetry to revealed and rebounds, not too many pounds in and out exactly, be less than lines were straight through ahead
Written by
Michael James Brindley
12-26-18
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