Each Time We Try To

A Flower Without A Stem, Is Beauty Waiting To Die. A Heart Without Love, Is A Tear Waiting To Cry.

We Are Condemned To Kill Time, Thus We Die Bit By Bit.

Poet: Gardener Of Epitaphs.

If Each Of My Words Were A Drop Of Water, You Would See Through Them And Glimpse What I Feel: Gratitude, Acknowledgement.

The World Is Born When Two People Kiss