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A sunset in a southern land
Red earth stains the sky
The hot wind throws the old dead sand
In lifeless pits of dry
The desert there is one large stain
Spanning side to side
If you assume it's one terrain
Survival is denied.
There's Northern beaches, crystal blue
Boxes with a sting
The water's home to great whites too
Step lightly, they're king
The crushed remains of shells now gone
Pure sand hugs the coast
Bleached coral reef, all life withdrawn
Silence for the ghost.
This continent with beauty past
Editing it out
Flora, fauna - they'll be recast
Man's here, there's no doubt.
"Shut up, nature, out of the way!"
It's their turn to grow.
Death of beauty, a new today
Man's gift to bestow.
Amazon fails. Fun ensues.A Lesson in Customer Service - Amazon.
This is a running transcript of my first experience on Amazon. I will update this as it goes along. Watch the awesome customer service in action!
My first sent email.
I'm attempting to buy the album Enzso 2 from the seller westendentertainment.
When proceeding to the checkout phase, it tells me that the item does not currently ship to my country.
The item is located in Australia. I am in Australia.
In case Amazon or the seller is not familiar with the Trade Practices Act 1974 (the Australian law of trading), not allowing the item to be shipped nationally would breach the Act, as outlined in section 44ZZRD.
Also, it's just plain idiotic that an item can't be "shipped to the selected address"... from Australia... to Australia.
Can you please fix this?
I'd love to have this item, and I'm sure all other parties involved would love to have my money. We call this trading.
The interesting thing is that I have no idea whether t
Bo.When Lindsay was born, Bo was there. Standing beside her mother, he was the first thing she ever saw. But he was not her father; her father stood on the other side.
Bo was there until the very moment she died.
The sun shone bright through the windows of her pink-laden room. She loved pink. And black.
“Because Bo is black,” she’d told her parents.
Her imaginary friend, they soon concluded.
“Bo is all black,” she described one night as her father tucked her in, “His skin and his hair and everything. He doesn’t talk a lot.”
Her father frowned.
“He sounds scary.”
“He’s not,” she insisted.
Bo sat on the bed and said nothing.
Her father kissed her good night and turned out the light.
“Why can’t Dad see you?” she asked.
“Are you real?”
“Are you real?” he replied.
“How do you know?”
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