I have 3629 stories published in
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Sweet, gentle spirit of the Summer breeze who whispers words of love in leaves of trees. It’s joy to feel the soft touch of your hand; your cooling breath, like being gently fanned.
She asked me for roses; I gave her rose hips and said, “Here are roses as red as your lips with perfume more sweeter than any you’ll smell in expensive bottles brewed up by Chanel”.
Go and bathe your deepest troubles in the ocean that an enormous, sinking sun has set ablaze; bury the mountain of your sorrows in a flowering field on the bluest and brightest of Summer days