Sunrise: day's great progenitor.
Pain has an element of blank
Vinnie rocks her Garden and moans that God won't help her. I suppose he is too busy getting angry with the Wicked every day.
The poet lights the light and fades away. But the light goes on and on.
You cannot fold a flood and put it in a drawer, because the winds would find it out and tell your cedar floor.
I felt it shelter to speak to you.