While they leave the rich just a bit ruffled, To run for status updates, They wash away every last thing the poor can hold on to. Our calamities are so classist.
Love beckons again. O my clad in white and pink, dame! I’m back in my blooming hues, Where the hell are you! Feels just like yesterday, Or last spring it was? You flirted with me from your balcony, Smiled and made gestures. That’s how season one, Of our romance begun! And then, One bright sunny… Continue reading Tree Tales