Nature in its way is like the last One, dead, although the different reaction last One left on us will not be the same as the death of nature, flowers will not grow on its grave, neither will it unmilk the bees nor milk it.

Every day we meet him, for some of us his's the first face we see, him will guide us to him and when two of him, flowers grow again.

The desperation in a sinking battleship made them canon out, 1 asked to aim for water, as waves will guide him home. One aimed for the sky, he was the captain worthy of going to the clouds and leaving them behind. one asked to be aimed at a near deserted island, why? He has flower seeds in his pockets they will grow and feed on him, but on sand they won't grow.

We never see him, we never talk about him, we never talk to him, we never care for him as we don't know him, but you are not one of us, speak to him, care for him you must know him, don't be everything to him, as flowers don't need everything to grow.

My pleasure my love my honor my being my seeing my theeing my keen, hand me, mine won't grow as One.

Putting pride aside and nationalists aside, July.