How, like a moth, the simple maid / Still plays about the flame!

Bee to the blossom, moth to the flame; Each to his passion; what's in a name?

Like a moth to a flame we become helpless to the beautiful ghosts that true love sheds

i want to love you with simple,
like a bare singular matchstick.
one
stroke
to ignite
with no words spoken
by the heated flames of the timber of crimsoned scarlet fire.
as it crackles
with close
separation
entangled with the intimacy of firefly ashes
choosing to enchantingly dance around in abundant
joy.
hazily whistling into the glorified heavens
making the ebony soot dissolve into the cool crisp air.
yearning to be the explosion who
burns
through your bones
as you visualize red ecstasy of a
provoked kindle.

We made more plays down the stretch than Bushnell and that's all there is to it. It's a simple game. ... You've got to make baskets and you've got to make stops. In the fourth quarter, we got more stops than they did and that's what it's about.

Otemeale is good for to make a faire and wel colored maid to looke like a cake of tallow