A Not So Stealthy Bomber
So beautiful Pinky, line for line, truly. When one hears the sweet strums of the harp accompanied by the gentle babbling of a brook in the very slow rising of dawn, everything, save one, becomes a distant option. Metaphorically, it takes 'two' to places only they know.
You still exceed your poetry.
Just out looking for the real me...
[This message has been edited by P.U Stinkenbaum (05-26-2017 02:57 AM).]