Flowers gone already
Ol' lone tree stretching far from her height lending the moon a moment's respite on travels through the nite. Working on my backup poet career if I'm forced to quit my dayjob, also planting taters in buckets in the seller.
In blinding might of winter white A lone tree is nice to see A lone crow looking at snow Or at me Prolly hoping I could be ate. Demands for certified hoof trimmers only might mean I need a new career, might have to try going poet. Or pirate.
