I left England back in the old age,
belonging to the same iris's, soul...

It was an early spring,
under moonlit stars...

Crackles, shackles
of hardwood creepers...

Attempting to craft a sonnet,
with ebb and flow of unique...

I whispered a vow to the sky
of breezes sprinkled in Jasmine...

My eyes do not vision
madness and destruction...

I truly admire the collection of rainbows
that share my spiritual visions of peace...

Dear Hunny-
It's significant, sacred and sentimental...

Breasted nightmares become a lofty
journey for a native who walks alone...

Madness-
Children are singing...

I broke at a tender age,
when life was honeysuckle...

It wasnt the
summery days...