|Your Face, by George Chow|
Your face is the making of the sand. A blow it may just gone into a can. Mix of chemistry and senses made, the days plain in time of changes. Until one day the sand dignified, one day the wind breeds the fertile, one day its just a lie for what to find. the days you flow by in time of rhyms.
|Posted: 2013-02-13 05:10:46 UTC|
|This poem has no votes yet.||To vote, you must be logged in.|