It starts with a quench,
and turns into wrench.
The sky, the tide, the blue and the highs.
Won’t it matter to hollow?
rather living in solo.
The sour, the sweets, the bitter ,the wits.
You can be what you want, but not so to scar.
You can hide if you need, it’s not everyone’s plead.
To a man it might, or may be disguise.
But who knows it matters, gives all his tries.
If you loose some hope, it’s always you to cope.
So why not you hunt, what hungers your soap.
Oh! You know it mattered, to the forests, for betters.
It’s your view that bounds, doesn’t see those wounds.
You crave for better, yet plunge with haters.
It’s time to unfold that you can, and are bold.
To decide, what matters.
To behave for betters.
To be like few those ducks.
To believe in your guts.
But you mind your cats.
Please make beautiful
Do see : listen when
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Happy blogging. ❣️