Title:
<p>The problems we have faced, all we have is desperation How may I fit my family into the equation? How will we deal with there constant begs? How much land will be allotted, and to whom? What can't I afford? How may we state the look of elsewhere? How can I make myself less abstracted? In the house but not of it. Grace of a front lawn, stucco sophisticate. All that glitters stuck in the surface. Sheet shocks sense into reflection. Wood sliced into beam better becomes the forest. This city and its heights, bright lights, the forest nowhere near environmentalist are afraid it has disappeared and that would be there greatest fear I'm almost depressed I'm leaving, the outlands of the city is where my head will rest</p>
Author:
Bio:
What is the sum of 11 and 11:
It's your turn! Move into the poem. Renovate it. Knock down its walls. Put your spin on it. Make it your own.