The sun will rise with its golden glow,
over the grassy hair of the hills...
The smell of sweet green grass,
will rise with the fog so thin and cool.
As the golden eye of the heavens rise,
the heat from Mother natures life will thirst.
So humid he glimmers and he will shine bright,
taking the dew for his own...
But the sun is going down....
Sinking into the ocean...
The earth starts to cool...
Night time spirits come out to play...
The magical ball of fire has died,
And his sister the moon takes over.
The night is a quiet arctic landscape....
As they watch their only star quiver in the pure black sky...
Gaian Grammar Guild
The Gaian Grammar Guild is a refuge for the literate, a place for them to post and read posts without worrying about the nonsensical ones.
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