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April 8, 2011 by Employee of the Fukin Month

Big, bold, red, white, blue and glimmers of gold.

Tales of old and gods for told,  the ideas cease to abode.

Their presence stretches across the sky like a blanket.

Forever shimmering like an accredited asset.

To most they are nice to look at, to others they behold possibility.

Whichever your preference may be there is a never ending conceivability.


All Rights Reserved and Protected By (C) Miks Poems 2011

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