Hey all, when life was all, and all hay rolling
and river walkway midday summer strolling,
I'd look where willow fronds were long and waving
upon the river blossom fallen, paving
still, congealing stagnant green: my learning
then became of waste in summer joy. My yearning's
turning to a blanket white, a call
in winter, calling all, last call, hey all.
fins....summer rolling strolling......summer waiting sating.....summer....bliss.....I'm gonna write one too......
....they're asking me to prove why I should be allowed to stay with my baby in Australia, because I'm mentally ill......and they think I should leave......
hey all, when I was small
I wrote small words....when I got bigger
words grew too....
and I flew to a paradise of words
and reading was my steady joy
I was like a boy.....I jumped and hit and ran
but the words began
to hold me in their thrall
behold the golden words,
and smile.....hey all.....
....they're asking me to prove why I should be allowed to stay with my baby in Australia, because I'm mentally ill......and they think I should leave......
Hey all, when life was all, and all hay rolling
and river walkway midday summer strolling,
I'd look where willow fronds were long and waving
upon the river blossom fallen, paving
still, congealing stagnant green: my learning
then became of waste in summer joy. My yearning's
turning to a blanket white, a call
in winter, calling all, last call, hey all.
You must read and write A LOT of poetry to pull off something like this so quickly. I'm impressed.
There is no such thing as leftover pizza. There is now pizza and later pizza. - anonymous The risk I took was calculated, but man, am I bad at math - The Mincing Mockingbird
Comments
hey all.
man, i'm tired and i'm at work.
sorry.
i'm not very inspired.
hey... all
~Juan Azize
Hey All
Man, I'm tired
And at work.
Sorry, not inspired.
Hey all.
and river walkway midday summer strolling,
I'd look where willow fronds were long and waving
upon the river blossom fallen, paving
still, congealing stagnant green: my learning
then became of waste in summer joy. My yearning's
turning to a blanket white, a call
in winter, calling all, last call, hey all.
I wrote small words....when I got bigger
words grew too....
and I flew to a paradise of words
and reading was my steady joy
I was like a boy.....I jumped and hit and ran
but the words began
to hold me in their thrall
behold the golden words,
and smile.....hey all.....
The risk I took was calculated, but man, am I bad at math - The Mincing Mockingbird