Country

April 4, 2008
By
The country allows me to live there,
This place is very kind.

The land grows rapidly in the summer,
Grows many plant and crops.

Cars are whispering by,
Whispering in the blowing wind.

The bonfire hurts the ground,
It screams for help in the dark smoke.

I wish it had a dirt bike track,
Of course it might rip the land’s skin





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback