Rise and shine little one,
The sun approaches from the east.
Baby seed rooted in the ground,
First stem rising like yeast.
So long it seems since the day,
You emerged from Earth's womb,
So hard to believe, my little sister,
How soon you'll be in bloom.
If I knew just what the future held,
I'd know just what you'd be.
Right now you're like an empty book,
And only through time we'll see.
Still I wonder of you,
What will lay ahead?
What bud will you have formed,
On your pretty little head.
You could be the reddest rose,
Without a single thorn.
Or the brightest daisy,
To comfort those who mourn.
Could you be the lonely violet,
When I round my numbers t'is outstanding
No better feeling has there ever been
Than the one I get from endless rounding
Moving numbers up or down, e'er a win
What are the inner workings of this art?
It takes a mighty knowledge of digits
You will also need a number to start
Once you learn, it'll test all of your wits
Four or less, leave it just as it is now,
Once you go over that, take it up one.
The simplicity, it makes me meow
Now that you know you can enjoy the fun.
Never again will you carry a frown
Because you are able; able to round
Rise and shine little one,
The sun approaches from the east.
Baby seed rooted in the ground,
First stem rising like yeast.
So long it seems since the day,
You emerged from Earth's womb,
So hard to believe, my little sister,
How soon you'll be in bloom.
If I knew just what the future held,
I'd know just what you'd be.
Right now you're like an empty book,
And only through time we'll see.
Still I wonder of you,
What will lay ahead?
What bud will you have formed,
On your pretty little head.
You could be the reddest rose,
Without a single thorn.
Or the brightest daisy,
To comfort those who mourn.
Could you be the lonely violet,
Orpheus
he plays not the lyre
but walks on the wire
it cuts him to bits;
pay no mind
he hangs from his noose
though beaded and loose
his soul has no end,
strung aline
as he reaches to touch,
when his love is too much,
the demons creep back
halt, does he
for he knows she does not
and his love is to rot
beneath moonvines and veils
his love sleeps
away from all worlds,
betwixt the dark curls,
she's golden and molten
and lush
she moves like a doll
and wears dresses in fall
he knows every love,
every crush
and he walks on the wire
through smoke and through fire
he clutches a hand:
it's not hers
instead, it's his own
m
At the time of typing this I already suspect that putting this online anywhere is a horrid idea. That said this is the best place to put it, as nobody I wouldn't want to see this would see it. At least, I think so, that depends on whether or not I want you to see it, which will be determined entirely by luck of the draw, if you open this or if it gets lost among the other updates you get when you come online.
Despite my not addressing you by name you would have to know who this about if you're reading it, and I'm gradually regretting this more and more as I type each word- regardless I decided to finish typing this when I started and I will