The windmill sings to the sky,
She writes a poem...
Water to a shore’s imply,
Sands with footprints that roam...
Amazing is a pained line of shores,
The boat stipends an oar...
People smile as a kite roars,
Alas wept the rain as the cloud thus tore...
He runs for shade,
A road where cream was made...
The ice sinks to a fruited shade,
A tree dismembers her leafy fray...
The traffic is out fishing,
A coin looks up its wishing well...
His feet sings to the earth’s kissing,
A cat sings to her brittle bell...
The street is a walking road furnished,
A Stone bench reads itself a book...
Painted winds are not replenished,
A loaf of bread is the butter’s cook...
A Rosary sings to her bead,
His fingers give in to the shiver...
The sidewalk plants a seed,
A nightingale sings to an apple’s liver...
The rich play with greedy dice,
A poor woman begs for rice...
Her little child pays the price,
The street lamp speaks to her twice...
She sells no shells on a sliver shore,
The chicken smiles to the butter pour...
A purple dress to the moon she wore,
The fish attends to his allergy sour!
