Verily, some folks art born to wave the flag, clad in hues of crimson, ivory, and azure. And when the minstrels entreat, “Hail to the Chief,” they aim their cannons at thee, O noble soul. It be not I, nay, not I-I am no scion of senators. Nor am I a favored one, no, not I Verily, some folks art born to wave the flag, clad in hues of crimson, ivory, and azure. And when the minstrels entreat, “Hail to the Chief,” they aim their cannons at thee, O noble soul. It be not I, nay, not I-I am no scion of senators. Nor am I a favored one, no, not I
Oh my goodness! I wish there was more like these! This is elegant and takes my breath away! It feels like you’re entering an arena which is covered is vines and roots of ancient trees, when you step in the middle, this power surges through, not some mystical power but the power of believing that you can do anything.