We sat together while I read out
My young eyes focused, my head was
I glanced at your attentive face,
Familiar memories you seemed to ch
Ancient poems that old men wrote

The absent minded artist; he wishe
He finishes the portrait,
and yet he hates the face.
the absent minded artist
knows not which path is best

In a mossy bed she lies awake, wat
If alone, she’s far from home, no
Afraid to move she tries to speak,
Then a sound flung from the ground
“Why do you sing?” She asks the b

Please remove your masks,
please tell me they can go.
leave room for my flowers,
they also need to grow.
I’m sorry I can’t reach you,

Echos are a reminder of something
Echos are evidence
Echos scream at the ears of hate.
Hate pays them no mind because he
Scream over a mountain top