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Neck a smooth, cylindrical mold As sheathe with fibers carefully rolled Pale, satin sheen artfully scrolled Grace on soft, silky strands doled In light, silted hologram to behold
Her sole mission, seduce, trap, mangle From emerald pontoon rectangle With cunning guile tackle disentangle Then o'er quarry question mark dangle From silted, flossed line lure does jangle
Our home is our palace. The mind is the hearth's tent. Our compartmentalized minds have many, furnished rooms. Does nature or nurture furnish them? Psychologists still debate this question.
Paint nature's canvas with a broad brush! On mountain top high, fantasy soars us into the wild blue yonder, and the tangible strains of life grip us as we descend to the valley below.