Allow me present to you the hysterical tale of attar, the redolence from Mr. Fitzgerald’s loom room that gingers my soul.
Just a gleam and my mind ran back to Elizabeth, Beth's queen of the ring. The feeling I get on reaching a myrrh stuffed scene. For a thousand years, a thousand souls can’t estimate my consanguinity with cassia.
What is the point of living for a millennium without a calamus close to me? Do you want to say am gone-on with a bouquet? Right, cage aged with Incense. Can’t stand Meddusa’s aura? Stench ain’t a pure explanation.
I want to give my poetry the fragrance that won’t only outstand my generation, Fragrance that will nudge hearts on Mars
About the Creator
Fred Musoke
I want to give my writing a fragrance. I mean, that redolence which won’t only outlast my generation, but will also nudge the souls on Mars.
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