%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 A place for discussion on poetry, reviews, contests, etc. |
 1,000 GPs were sent to Dave  with this post.
I will try this in a quick scribble. WEATHER. When that white snow is on the ground, And a shovel is in your hand The colorful leaves of Autumn can no longer be found. Now you are outside spreading sand, Hoping that you don’t catch a cold, You liked it as a child but now it does not feel so grand. Things seem to change as you grow old, Don’t find those fun games in the snow, All those things you used to do, on which your no longer sold. Its a few things we grow to know, Like no more sliding down the hill And when a blizzard comes to town the wind will surely blow. But there are things you can do still, Listen to the wind, hear the sound As it shakes the house, fire up the stove, drive away the chill. Monty |
Re: Form of the week: Garden Lace · 01-10-20 2:00pm 
un: 
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Awards
Badges
Community Newsfeed
Puzzle Hub
General Discussion
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
