https://www.pexels.com/photo/brown-wooden-dock-414612/
As soon as it's right, the smell rises
Like a short piece of paper written day and night
Shaking violently
Be still, little bird
In the language of flow
To the springs that liberate your life
To sing poetry
The wings have been shown solely to give a sense of proportion
Spray parasites left behind
No rain, no rain
Falling into the desert
I have to get up and fly at the wrong time
@thaelay1