If you are a drunken flower, you have reached the well. The blue eminence sky projects heroic coolness and dwell, the morning of after night. Grass has gone green, in traces and Olympian spit. A word inspired by intention growls softly for the fact. The fact slows to pieces.
We have an earth, named Round and Round. We have a sky, called Calling. We are children with phrases that include proximate conditions. We resist Republicans by being well. We take our flowers as we reach them.
Now it is the day when today happens. It has autumn light across fields of deliver. Useful corn and cross purposes combine. A poem isn't any better than today.