The Sophist

2018-08-22 07:47 pm

Quoth the stone road.
“Does a slug judge blood in a cut?” 
“I’ve seen a sponge pull the snow into it’s lungs.”
“How does brush on a bluff approach a shrub?”
Roads groan in prose as such that the dove dove and the grove was lush.
Lots of berries for the nature boys. 
Pure love it ’twas.