Thursday, September 3, 2009


If the ocean's tide can massage it's wave across the beach's sand without hands and the solid soil can hug the old-oak's roots tight, like college good byes; If the mountain tops can kiss the sky's forehead every morning without ever forgetting; if the sun can show up for it's date with life, never late and always on time and if the wind chimes can whistle moans of ecstasy every time the breeze makes Love. Then tell me, what's our excuse?

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