No failed attempts at you.
Unique answers to the other side.
How may I fit my fit?
How will we lie?
How much land will you cry?
and How blue? How bluer? Abstracted?
In blue race of
all that glitter
wood slices is better the forest.
Can't see things move any further? Then gaze afar.
What is the sum of 11 and 8:
It's your turn! Move into the poem. Renovate it. Knock down its walls. Put your spin on it. Make it your own.