rhymeguy Posted June 26, 2016 Share Posted June 26, 2016 The hot winds of anger blow across the frigid landscape. Leaving only a desert where flowers once grew. Gone are the mighty oaks. Gone are the gentle lilies. Gone, the song birds and the soaring eagles. Deserted oasis; poisoned waters; parched bones of the errant nomads. Shimmers of promise, mirages of hope, proven elusive on the arid horizon. Travelers beware. Drink not too deeply. What seems sweet to the tongue may sour in the belly. I need to work on a few things. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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