The rolling of the molded clay...
At long day's end might become a mishapened oblong abstract ashtray.
A sunset captured to oiled art...
These brush strokes guide the waves well frothed.
...
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There is really no need to rub it in Michael, I will not bother again. Promise. A poetic heart wrenched meandering poem though. Well done. Tai
Praise for your dedication to what you were born to do. A very eloquent write. Kindest regards, Sandra