117 of 140

by Ethan Womack

The glossy, green, glass covered grass, passes and masses into something I once had. I remember the daisy plains, where we grazed and gazed, for days and days, until our eyes were glazed, and our mind was a maze, we were trapped in, a phase of finding ways of fun and play and stay in a haze, and because of the craze, we were never waylay-ed, to reach the tops of that fiery blaze, until we stopped and we were praised, for all our days with the daisy plains, where we gazed and grazed with nothing to say...

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Poetry: Nonsense

by Ethan Womack

Poetry: Nonsense

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