Thoughts of budding green leaves.
Dreams of my soul running through your Blueberry skies,
poured with Mocha Cream.
Rusty strings laced with rain,
with England shining in my eyes.
The smell of the Irish sea,
in me,
crashing like a wave in my veins.
Trees like I've never seen.
Old. Strong. Gnarled.
Entwined with picturesque sunshine.
Trees full of rich green.
Streams of ethereal light.
Exquisite thoughts of Expressive Paintings.
Rustic Orange's. Danish Yellow and Cremes of French Pastries.
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