It started with my buzzing ears. Ask for attention in such demand about a tale, a tale that needs to tell. She was a mother of bohemian, curly hair scented patchouli flower. Under the maple creeper, those moments felt peculiar.

She was starring at the sky most of the time with her squinted eyes trying to compromise. She was sadden by the broken grass, unfriendly air made the leaves don't last, says the wind to her wise.

The words may not all be the same, but we understand the difference that day.

She was starring at the sky most of the time with her squinted eyes trying to compromise. She was sadden by the broken grass, unfriendly air made the leaves don't last, says the wind to her wise. And I was sitting there by surprise, "This thing doesn't happen all time", trying to apprehend. Between supper, French bread and wine, I know she will remain in my mind. Perfect idiom I can't define, I know she will remain in my mind.