Monday, 26 June 2017

Reaching With My Preaching

Clare, with some perseverance
I will adhere to our sevierence,
As do you think I was a nuisance
In I being an administer of prudence.

It's good to save, and to behave
Before we ultimately meet our grave,
And if you are suffering being naive
I will passionately conceive to grieve.

Are you a fan in how I've come to be,
And do I exercise might in a gripe,
Open you beautiful, soulful eyes to see,
That I won't take flight from this fright.

As I wonder and gander at what lays on yonder,
I am aware and prudent of God's Holy thunder
And our God is Mother Nature, and She is under
The sea, perhaps frozen in time from nurture.

Are you a breeze at how I appease with ease,
Or do you conventionally think irrationally,
By your absence you do tease with a weese
As to scoff at a cough is acting sensibly.

What I hold aloft, Is Mother Nature,
And if she were here She would nurture,
Everyone and everything to her thunder
Of each and everyone of us going under.

Copyrite Andrew Stevenson 26/06/2017

Sank You. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

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