What can this piece of paper do; imagine?
Future's the only flower worth tending in this earth, / where I sow my words daily: and you know, / these good trees bear fruit round the year, discreetly, / moving along the waterways / and four seasons of the faithful sun.
Love necessitates eagerness / To shake / January's cold hand / Not avert the eye / And look what comes / To love / Before its making.
Alas, love is too regional.
But there is no escaping / that manhood is merely / a revision of one's first edition.
Perhaps if you look long enough, for an intent eye / there may be a piece of a star wandering in the sky.