Rhythm schemes become tangled in the evening treetops,
and the sunlight is pretty, but it washes out our rhymes,
and the wind gently shakes our metaphors so that they become strange,
and do not fit into our mosaic masterpiece.
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Them wil maik ur lief hav lostas epicz winage n milisecundz~!
[[The life, poetry, rambles, and more-often-than-not fanfiction-related ranting of a 13-year-old otaku]]
LOLCATS
Them wil maik ur lief hav lostas epicz winage n milisecundz~!
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