Ianaldo Prescott Pourchot Biography

The weary Dancer wakes up,
And she dances,
She walks on her feet.
...

Like all poetry
Things don’t make no sense
But one thing is true
I really love you
...

O England alone
It is my Lovely home
It is nothing but true
Suns never set on you
...

My fingers are as weary,
As the wild rider’s horse.

An endless trail of notes,
...

One day I caught a memory
And I let it grow
I spun its little toy crown
And let it go
...