| Victorians never feared that mist. But why did they save on moss. Like the search for treasured gold. I guess I'll need such loss. |
Embostic Red, before it opens? My wishes? I can't even say them, Dear. Coffees, please. But only if he wants them. And cream matching the hunger up here. |
The poem that wins your vote migrates up a Ladder in rank one step.
The poem that looses your vote migrates down a Ladder in rank one step.
Go see the real time Ladder results, (but please
contribute six or seven votes first).
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home = www.epicdewfall.ca |
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