broken paranchymas,

Within books and stones of knowledge the tree that lingered around protecting the only romance, that its leaves gave in to, the wrapped reality between two symphonic hearts- the aortic chamber pumping the taste of love to each flimsy cell, the carbonates,the atmospheric pressure all stuck within skinly romance,- yet the thorns of grace plague falp unto the souls of the united..... Oh' the sounds of immensed hatred, the crow laughed.., yet the tree never flinched a xylem tissue, and witin the wrapped time within skinly data, the pairs come back with love- the crows wings flap to nothing, yet the tree offers shade to the fallen crow. A tragic memory, the wound cried of emoitonless equations, each symphony, yet the crow couldnt croon the pain out "Crying is for the weak", the romance that shook my faint black feathers now begin to be bleached, "hah...." what can i do, the tree calmly brought its branch, the vines sprung between each feather- Expressed cleaning and fortune, each adhesive that held its feathers tight to not being able to flap, yet, the crow just replied "why", "as the 100 xylem rings that is stuck beneath my spine, the most beautiful thing i gave was my fruits of kindness"- The crow, lost words