Spring was never waiting for a skirt. It ran one step ahead as we followed in the dance.
Between the part of pages and the posts, in love's hot fevered eye, like a striped pair of pants.
MacArthur's pie is melting in the dark. All the sweet green icing flowing down.
Someone left the cake out in the rain. I don't think that I can take it, cause it took so long to bake it.
And I'll never have that recipe again. Oh no!
I recall the yellow poppy petals forming like a wave on the ground around your knees.
Birds like ten days in your hand, and the old men play. Chinese chippers by the trees.
MacArthur's pie is melting in the dark. All the sweet green icing flowing down. Someone left the cake out in the rain.
I don't think that I can take it, cause it took so long to bake it. And I'll never have that recipe again. Oh no!
MacArthur's pie is melting in the dark. All the sweet green icing flowing down.
Someone left the cake out in the rain. I don't think that I can take it, cause it took so long to bake it. And I'll never have that recipe again.
Oh no! Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!
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