The air was as fresh as mint.
Her curls fluttered in the wind.
This hair burned like a fire,
Burned through the frozen air.
Dry red maple as monster
Came for her from hell.
She's a runaway imp who was not important,
Who doesn't want to be lil.
Now heir is her lay:
The baby wanted to see people
And of course ran away.
How sweet the face looks
But she can boil the rain.
She has already rebelled,
Girl ready to enemies slay.
Would run from everyone on the rooftops...
Damn, what am I thinking?
It's just a redhead girl from the bus stop.
Curl story
© Copyright: Лола Грайнен, 2021
Свидетельство о публикации №121122604673
Свидетельство о публикации №121122604673
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