|There the wind has never seasons.
And the sun is gold from proud.
Tears grow from guarded reasons.
Where feel torns are allowed.
|I'm just stirring in some bills to pay.
And auditions, "for You'll get Apple-Scoop".
You have chosen wisely dear.
Casting Call Distance "To the Caribbean-Soup".
The poem that wins your vote migrates up a Ladder in rank one step.
The poem that looses your vote migrates down a Ladder in rank one step.
Go see the real time Ladder results, (but please
contribute six or seven votes first).
home = www.epicdewfall.ca