A shadow drapes across my soul,
A weight that drags, yet makes me whole.
It's not a storm, but endless rain,
A quiet ache, a lingering pain.

I wear the mask, a smile to show,
But deep inside, the currents flow.
A quiet cry that none can hear,
A silent scream, a hidden fear.

Some days are bright, the world so wide,
But others hide where I can't hide.
I don’t choose this, it’s not my fault,
Yet here I stand, my heart in vault.

The mind is a maze, dark and tight,
Where peace is fleeting, out of sight.
But even in the darkest night,
I fight to find the smallest light.

It’s part of me, this heavy hue,
A battle that I must get through.
But I know, through every tear,
I’ll rise again, despite my fear.

The curves of a woman, a sight to behold,
***** and bums, a symmetry to unfold.
Like hills and valleys, they rise and they fall,
A topography of beauty, for one and all.

The *****, like ripe fruit, full and so fine,
Invite the eye to linger, and the heart to entwine.
Their gentle sway, a dance so divine,
A movement that's subtle, yet oh so sublime.

And the bums, like rounded moons in the night,
Glow with a soft luminescence, a pure delight.
Their curves and contours, a work of art in themselves,
A masterpiece of nature, that forever wealth.

But let us not forget, these features so fair,
Are but a part of the whole, beyond compare.
For it's the person within, with heart and soul so bright,
That makes these curves shine with beauty and light.

So let us celebrate these wondrous forms divine,
And honour the women who wear them so fine.
For ***** and bums are but mere words we use,
To describe the beauty that our eyes can't refuse.

The ****, a symbol of strength, of power and of might,
A part of the male form, that's both delicate and bright.
It stands *****, a pillar of pride and desire,
A source of pleasure, and a spark that sets the fire.

The *****, like orbs of wisdom, hanging low and serene,
A treasure trove of life, where seeds of love are seen.
They swing with gentle motion, a rhythmic beat so fine,
A reminder of the beauty, that's inherent in design.

Together they form a union, a bond so strong and true,
A harmony of function, that's both beautiful and new.
For in their intricate dance, we find the essence of life,
A celebration of masculinity, in all its strife.

But let us not forget, these parts so bold and free,
Are but a portion of the whole, a fragment of humanity.
For it's the person within, with heart and soul so bright,
That makes these forms shine with beauty, and ignite with delight.

So let us honour the **** and *****, as symbols of our might,
And recognize the beauty, that shines with morning light.
For in their honest portrayal, we find a truth so rare,
A celebration of masculinity, without shame or care.

Apple apple, juicy sweet,
Fruity treat, hard to beat.
Crispy fresh, vibrant hue,
Apple apple, I love you.

In a humble shop, where hearts align,  
For ten long years, our beacon shines.  
A place where kindness finds its way,  
To those in need, day by day.

For three and a half, we've led the way,  
With open arms and words to say.  
Meeting faces, young and old,  
Stories of warmth and hands to hold.

Families with children, eyes so bright,  
Find solace in our gentle light.  
A difference made, a life renewed,  
In every smile, gratitude.

Through every challenge, joy, and tear,  
We've built a haven, year by year.  
From empty shelves to rising need,  
We've faced it all, with heart and creed.

A community, strong and true,  
All thanks to the heart of you.

In the hushed hours before dawn,
When the world holds its breath,
A silent echo lingers,
Reverberating through the stillness.

Whispers of forgotten dreams
Intertwine with the shadows,
Dancing in the corners of memory,
Unseen, but felt deep within.

Time suspends its relentless march,
Pausing to listen,
To the unspoken truths,
In the quiet spaces of existence.

Silent echoes of laughter,
Of sorrow, of love,
Resonate through the corridors of the heart,
Leaving imprints, invisible yet indelible.

In the solitude of night,
When the world is wrapped in silence,
The echo of a sigh,
Of a thought unvoiced, softly resounds.

It is in these moments,
Between the ticking of seconds,
That the soul finds its voice,
In the silent echo of its being.

A reflection of life’s essence,
Captured in the stillness,
An echo that speaks,
Without uttering a sound.

Silent, yet profound,
It spins a web of emotions,
In the spaces where words fall short,
An eternal echo in the void.

In a quiet corner, an old man sat,
A pint of beer, a worn flat cap.
The crossword before him, ink-stained and neat,
A puzzle, a riddle, a mental feat.

His glasses perched on the bridge of his nose,
A furrowed brow, as his mind arose.
With every sip, a memory stirred,
Of days gone by, of stories unheard.

The pub around him buzzed and hummed,
But in his world, all was numbed.
The clinking glasses, the lunchtime cheer,
Muffled sounds, far yet near.

His pen hovered, a moment’s pause,
Lost in thoughts of forgotten cause.
A chuckle escaped, a clue made clear,
In that moment, time disappeared.

The crossword, a canvas of black and white,
A dance of words, a silent flight.
Each answer a piece of his history,
Each blank space, a whispered mystery.

In his solitude, he found delight,
In the simple joys, in the midday light.
A life well-lived, reflected in ink,
In the corner, he'd ponder, he'd think.

As the afternoon aged, the crowd thinned out,
The crossword completed, without a doubt.
The old man smiled, a gentle sigh,
Content and peaceful, he closed an eye.

In that quiet corner, he’d sit once more,
A pint of beer, a mind to explore.
For in the puzzles, he found his peace,
A tapestry of life, a sweet release.