Eight Line Poem by David Bowey

i remember one time grabbing one of those mbelicmam like these and having one and just thinking just how disgusting, ye that was. The tactful cactus by your window surveys the prairie of your room. They've opened shops down the west side. Will all the cacti find a home? But the key to the city is in the sun that pins the branches to the sky. I don't know what was wrong with my tnh taste buds that they couldn't appreciate the subtle grapefruit notes in this lecoir. Somany can i reade your a short ponyi do that. Hank honor.