the balsa slowly
drifted away from the shore...
And it came, November.
The third time he asked a favor...
White papers all over
in the room's every corner...
For the eight time this year,
Where were you again...
Down the stairs, cold smooth tile felt under my...
as I eagerly waved my hand back and forth...
Alas, she fell for
the man of many lover...
I couldn't hate how
the scent of summer flowers...
the smile has left your eyes
I wonder where it went...
The white light was shining on me at that...
so I took a sip to drink that sober chance...
Family dinner or date with friends,
They were all asking the same...
This is not a poem
And it is long...
There was this old maiden.
Tia Sabel was her name...