This is an affectionate colour of wisdom
That is discarded into a traumatic taste
I was once creating the art of love
Whence I wondered a warming touch in the winter
The love grew such dramatic
Reformation started in the banks of river
Trees started to shiver
The Painting grew more mercifully evoked more love
I worth mere gentle
Nor did hoisted up a brief
But Neither some disappointed was weathered
When the sunlight twitched the ground
Kissing the amount of happiness
The love grew Autumn
Clouds collides clocking the coladder
The winds turn to breeze
The fog tried to geeze
And the painting of love was even at every event so eventually that evolved in a elated europicness.
V