Miles upon miles I traveled
Nine thousand miles of blind sail
Sailing round and round in my puddle
Void of thoughts and sight
My comming pains and made pains
The roaming road-signs knocks in a smile
Saying;
You must not trod your throu but it's nearer
The swollen road-walker nods in anger
Saying;
I haste to trod my slippery fertile land
My ferterlizer bag floods in slumberous sights.
Oh!!!.
It flows above it's banks upon bare lands
Millions of none-recicleable resources lost.
Oh!!!
My land is bushy and ready to trod
It's non-viscouse fluid floods and calls
Saying;
Young gardenner, your seed is ready and planted
All which is needed is rain
For this seeds has a lifespan
©kiekomo
K