Passes away because language. The mom, mother, there, not. The original is thin and transparent.
The mom, mother, there, not, soon or only, in moments. Reflection is language. Language is deer.
Deer go passionately, into wooded conceal and forget. Death is mother father. Time is go.
Rain on a moment, moist, present, then mushroom. The onliest course. Rain mushroom.
A poem becomes a mom dad when oh Words, Words, the precinct and tradition.
The moms and dads that are many moms dads, peering boundary and over all.
A poem is a place in a city that makes a town that becomes a family that stays tightly
Unsaid.
Such canvas of opportunity, for the children, and the willing drift.
Lease to pour and and pore the Poem, at your exact time.
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