progressing in the sense of delay...
truth be known, be shown,
to be an exfoliation to end the world.
my regards to a drifter, the maestro of openings.
let his chilled iron thought regress into bloom.
to these stacks, these piles, pillers, and peaks,
thought the one to the showers of nature to speak.
the golden? no. the iron, be done.
3 comments:
I'm going to enjoy reading these all the time. =]
its weird. you cant. You just edit your blog and add, i think its called an element? and choose links and add your friends links in there.
I like your poetry. My husband dabbles in it from time to time. I am going to check you out from time to time. Will enjoy reading your blog
Post a Comment