In the mirror there's no wonder of the "you who I knew."
The Hair square is a giant stare contained in the shaft of a follicle draft sailing a raft.
Your beautiful face is not a wasted case, but a talented haste with plenty of powdered base. While your nose pierces down around the ground of a tooth hound, the thin chin is free to frown upon the measured pound. As the neck struts to protect the gut rut, the chest blossoms with two friendly strucks. To paddle your safari, I want you to know the battle of the tarsus straddle of a wilderness fuss. Bare these things in mind before springing for another kind.
Written by: Patrick James Quaker
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