an idea was born
an idea was born
So we are at the beginning, green ackers
yellow sand , blue sea, all in festive
bright colors except for the rest of a cloud
drifting about looking misplaced
The evening glides into night, but when
morning arrives two body awakes under
a tree, they are the last specimens and
hitherto the best work done by a hand
unknown; that as we later shall hear of
by it its demand to be worship
So, what happened to the less perfect
where they left to populate the imperfect
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