ᗰᗩᎮᒪᕮ'S ᗯᕼISᎮᕮᎡ ᗩᑎᗪ ᑎOᎡTᕼᕮᎡᑎ ᒪIGᕼT

𝑈𝑝𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑡-𝑘𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑣𝑎𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑟𝑡ℎ,
𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑝𝑙𝑒’𝑠 𝑣𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑠,
𝑎 𝑤𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠—𝑎 𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑡 𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡ℎ,
𝑎𝑠 𝑆𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑡 𝐿𝑎𝑤𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑐𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑝𝑟𝑢𝑐𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑣𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑠.

𝐻𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠, 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑠𝑛𝑜𝑤𝑓𝑙𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑠 𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑔𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑡,
𝑚𝑢𝑟𝑚𝑢𝑟 𝑑𝑎𝑤𝑛 𝑖𝑛 𝐹𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑐ℎ 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐸𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠ℎ 𝑟ℎ𝑦𝑚𝑒,
𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑛, 𝑎 𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑘 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑎𝑝𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑘𝑦’𝑠 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑒,
𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑠 ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑒, 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒.

𝑁𝑜𝑡 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑤, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑙𝑎𝑚𝑒,
𝑎𝑠 𝑚𝑜𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑛’𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑚 𝑔𝑎𝑧𝑒;
ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑙𝑎𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑒𝑟, 𝑚𝑎𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑠𝑦𝑟𝑢𝑝 𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒’𝑠 𝑜𝑤𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑣𝑒,
𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑡𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑤𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑠𝑒.

𝐵𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑢𝑟𝑜𝑟𝑎’𝑠 𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑙 𝑓𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡,
ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑣𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑐𝑒𝑑𝑎𝑟 𝑠𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑜𝑜𝑠𝑒’𝑠 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙:
“𝑊𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑒, 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑤 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑚,
𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑟’𝑑 𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑎𝑙𝑙.”

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Come ɑnd pɑɾticipɑte becɑuse γou still hɑve, time…
A Pictuɾe Is Woɾth A Thousɑnd Woɾds

CREDITS:

• Image: Pixabay

• Title art: Fontmeme

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Dedicɑted to ɑll those poets who contɾibute, dɑγ bγ dɑγ, to mɑke ouɾ plɑnet ɑ betteɾ woɾld.

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ᎡᗩÍᘔ ᗪᕮ ᗩᎡᑕᕮ Y ᗩᑌᎡOᎡᗩ

𝔼𝕟 𝕖𝕝 𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕫𝕠 𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕒𝕕𝕠 𝕕𝕖𝕝 𝕟𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕖,
𝕕𝕠𝕟𝕕𝕖 𝕖𝕝 𝕧𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕖𝕛𝕖 𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕖𝕤 𝕕𝕖 𝕒𝕣𝕔𝕖,
𝕝𝕒 𝕞𝕦𝕛𝕖𝕣 𝕖𝕤 𝕣𝕒𝕚́𝕫 𝕢𝕦𝕖 𝕤𝕠𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕖 𝕝𝕒 𝕥𝕚𝕖𝕣𝕣𝕒,
𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕠 𝕖𝕝 𝕣𝕚́𝕠 𝕊𝕒𝕟 𝕃𝕠𝕣𝕖𝕟𝕫𝕠 𝕓𝕖𝕤𝕒 𝕝𝕒 𝕟𝕚𝕖𝕧𝕖 𝕪 𝕖𝕝 𝕡𝕚𝕟𝕠.

𝕊𝕦𝕤 𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕤, 𝕔𝕠𝕡𝕠𝕤 𝕢𝕦𝕖 𝕒𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕒𝕟 𝕖𝕝 𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕠,
𝕤𝕦𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕣𝕒𝕟 𝕖𝕟 𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕝𝕖́𝕤 𝕪 𝕗𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖́𝕤 𝕖𝕝 𝕒𝕝𝕓𝕒,
𝕞𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕤 𝕖𝕝 𝕙𝕠𝕞𝕓𝕣𝕖, 𝕞𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕒𝕟̃𝕒 𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕦𝕚𝕕𝕒,
𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕦𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕒 𝕖𝕟 𝕤𝕦 𝕒𝕓𝕣𝕒𝕫𝕠 𝕖𝕝 𝕞𝕒𝕡𝕒 𝕕𝕖 𝕦𝕟 𝕙𝕠𝕘𝕒𝕣.

ℕ𝕠 𝕖𝕤 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕓𝕣𝕒, 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕠 𝕝𝕦𝕫 𝕢𝕦𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕒,
𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕠 𝕖𝕝 𝕤𝕠𝕝 𝕒 𝕝𝕒 𝕝𝕦𝕟𝕒 𝕖𝕟 𝕖𝕝 𝕝𝕒𝕘𝕠 𝕕𝕠𝕣𝕞𝕚𝕕𝕠;
𝕤𝕦 𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕒, 𝕛𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕓𝕖 𝕕𝕖 𝕒𝕣𝕔𝕖 𝕖𝕟 𝕖𝕝 𝕡𝕒𝕟𝕒𝕝 𝕕𝕖𝕝 𝕥𝕚𝕖𝕞𝕡𝕠,
𝕕𝕦𝕝𝕫𝕦𝕣𝕒 𝕢𝕦𝕖 𝕟𝕦𝕥𝕣𝕖 𝕝𝕒 𝕙𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕚𝕒 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕚𝕕𝕒.

𝔹𝕒𝕛𝕠 𝕝𝕒 𝕒𝕦𝕣𝕠𝕣𝕒 𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕝, 𝕤𝕦 𝕧𝕠𝕫 𝕤𝕖 𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕝𝕒𝕫𝕒
𝕔𝕠𝕟 𝕖𝕝 𝕙𝕚𝕞𝕟𝕠 𝕕𝕖 𝕝𝕠𝕤 𝕓𝕠𝕤𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕤 𝕪 𝕖𝕝 𝕣𝕦𝕘𝕚𝕣 𝕕𝕖𝕝 𝕔𝕚𝕖𝕣𝕧𝕠:
“𝕊𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕦 𝕗𝕦𝕖𝕣𝕫𝕒, 𝕖𝕝 𝕙𝕚𝕖𝕝𝕠 𝕟𝕠 𝕔𝕖𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕚́𝕒 𝕒 𝕝𝕒 𝕡𝕣𝕚𝕞𝕒𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕒,
𝕤𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕦 𝕤𝕦𝕖𝕟̃𝕠, 𝕖𝕝 𝕣𝕚́𝕠 𝕟𝕠 𝕤𝕒𝕓𝕣𝕚́𝕒 𝕙𝕒𝕔𝕚𝕒 𝕕𝕠́𝕟𝕕𝕖 𝕚𝕣”.

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Ven y participa, aún estás a tiempo…
Una imagen dice más que mil palabras

CRÉDITOS:

• Imágenes: Pixabay

• Títulos: CoolText

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Dedicɑdo ɑ todos ɑquellos que contɾibuγen, díɑ ɑ díɑ, ɑ hɑceɾ de nuestɾo plɑnetɑ, un mundo mejoɾ.

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