Letting the good times roll, awakening, out of the ground. It wasn't a tulip, but a mangy dame with a buffet buried in Kentucky Blue Grass. Clawing her way out of the grave-yard grim on a bad road covered...

𝓦𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓪 𝓬𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓻𝓾𝓼𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓪 𝓬𝓪𝓶𝓹𝓱𝓸𝓻-𝓰𝓻𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝓮𝔁𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓸𝓯 𝓵𝓪𝓾𝓻𝓮𝓵'𝓼 𝓫𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓼𝓬𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲𝓼𝓮 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓪𝓲𝓻 𝓹𝓾𝓵𝓼𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓪 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓭𝓸𝔀𝓸𝓷 𝓲𝓽'𝓼 𝓬𝓻𝓸𝔀𝓷 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓪 𝓬𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓻𝓾𝓼𝓽𝓵𝓮

A scion of an echo in forest of verdant greenbeneath a canopy of heaven on earth reachinglike tall trees caroling. Echoing the silenceof archeology and ancient leaves with wind chimes.