Olive hues draw in the preparing,
Azure heavens push the clock
Set the pricing in her hands.
I have examined the trinkets
And eyed the knickknacks
Avoiding the blaring price tags,
She only speaks to me "One man's trash,
Is another man's treasure."
Each sage season, I question
And she responds the same.
Spring is the mischief in me
And that's where her sanity falls.
The design of "is it really?" stirs my mind.
If it were a treasure, wouldn't it be seen by all?
The trash transforms to treasures
But her treasure is of green paper and silver metal
She only says "One man's trash,
Is another man's treasure."
YOU ARE READING
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De TodoPoems about my life...and other random shite. Enjoy!