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Word smith an unintelligent gun smith power lives, in the sound between your lips so girls bend your hips just jokes so, Netflix and chill, ...

Tuesday, 26 August 2025

Green green grass called home.

Green green grass of home
was a greenhouse that I sold
for sake of broken glass and stones that stayed whole
a pebbled path to what was lost, turned into a main road
for fast cars with high beams that highlight the cold
so huddle for warmth to find only me I could hold
with clouded skies that gift the rain to feel less alone
and a lullaby like thunder to soothe the mind of its woes
to wake to tomorrow and see what I'm told
for one day it will be a garden to rest my weary soul
with birds and trees, bees and flowers and honey like gold
in my damp and loud, green green grass of home.