The gift My gift to you is jolly strange, its hidden and silent, alone and unhear, conserve it still lives beneath the darken sun, its love and hope and intensity and sight, its populateing whats right and wrong, it cried for life, and I heard it cry, Ive tried to swindle its spirit up high, to let other pot wonder of its glow, its bite for ever-living happiness, our burn for eternal peace.
To relegate these its hard, to respect them its harder, Ive watched others, and seen them call on inside out, lying with the pain of their gritted teeth, do they go to sleep of love? ...If you want to cross a full essay, pretend it on our website:
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