All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Trippy Tale
She, a loner. He, a stoner. He, her happiness bail. She, his trippy tale. And both met, to puff their tears into rings of smoke.
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