Hush, I feel the rush.
Dazed, my feet is seen where the sunlight meets.
Shapes, non consciously looking for cars my field just a peripheral haze.
Take nothing that is lush but on forward time is such.
Authors: Sometimes poetry doesn't have to be a given. If it was a consonant would it make this poem any less perfect. Let me ask what makes a picture perfect to an artist. What do you think of my four sentences?
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