Where I go to escape
Meadow The grass is green as envy. Misery ceases to exist. Beauty isn't history. The air is far from cold, The sun is pure as gold. No one here grows old. Sign in to see full entry.
Life inside the idiot box for Sunday, August 22, 2010
By BrittWit - About Me - E-mail this page - Add to My Favorites - Add to Blog List - See other blogs in Poetry