User:HowardPlayzOA/sandbox

Poem 1
Sand-boxing my way to the store,

I may not ever known,

Down the hills that we came,

No one shall came in.

In the store,

Sit down a chair,

Wait the waiter,

And order.

Talking with a bum head,

Going through a hard process,

Into the plane,

Disappear into a hostile atmosphere.

Hostiles alerted,

Planes flew by as one by one,

As they went through the hostile zone,

They crashed in China.

HowardPlayzOA