It was the longest stairway. Its length ran from the sky to lower than the ground. Constructed of granite; its origin is unkown. We descended, lower than the clouds. Here we found the steps now hung ragged; we were alone. We could no longer be lead lower than the ground. We asked the wind, ‘How do we reach our place?’ The wind howled and crumbled more of our footing.
I’d enjoy seeing what an artist could do with this. I don’t have the ability.
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I agree completely.
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Though we were left standing
The wind try as its will to blow us from our footing
We turn to each other asking the same question why
And our answers were shaken by the wind
Hey pop how goes it
As always Mr Cannon
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It’s going good. The little guy is happy and healthy. Thanks for asking!
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Grrrrrrrrrrrreat
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