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My Son the Poet
May. 9th, 2012 07:00 pmNature
There is a soft wind
Trees gently swaying rocking
Deer walk quietly
--written by my nine-year-old
My sons enjoy nature alright until BEES! Then they run screaming into the house.
Poor bees.
There is a soft wind
Trees gently swaying rocking
Deer walk quietly
--written by my nine-year-old
My sons enjoy nature alright until BEES! Then they run screaming into the house.
Poor bees.
