Embolism
It's a small pond,
circular mirror,
no rocks on its lawn,
but you'll see cookies when it's clearer-
bonds for bonds-
there is only one real singular,
you may find a little find,
or run it to town inferior.
Bind well with the wand,
and you'll always feel the feature,
the time is rhyme in its song,
whatever culmination comes for reacher.
Copyright © Jimmi Canada | Year Posted 2017
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