Money is a demonstration to Integrity. The San Francisco Mint should know that as the beauty of a coin is more than the side that maps blush to the history of each print. The 7th US President Andrew Jackson has been on my mind recently and in conversation while sleeping the nightmares are put to bay as the moons counter the conduction as a Conductor would wave to the slight rise of paragraphed designs.
Each pleasure is the napkin that graces the table to push the letter as a word to a swords delight! The sharpening of ore to the castsmith is the precision of word[WORTH] and yet how fallen we have come from such heights that coins have become trade, yet the coin, awe butter to the worth as the face to the Jackson ranks patrol to the candor that the Mint must allow on a piece: Watch the gems that diamond the ruby to polish a grain to the oats that have fed the fields that buffalo ripen with their presence.
To grasp the beauty in word would bleed to eternity to Well the water as a bucket of shoes, such plain and raised facets to fruits of yard that a garden would dare not purple. Fashion the night horrors[nightmares] to the casper and the sheets of time raise the gravity to force the task to a better harness as the buckles to show that dress is but a fabric that covers the sight of blindness to the beauty of flight, no albatross would lose cause to a boiled Pot to retrieve and egg for the beach of fins as fabric to feather, oil to pots, the plight of no more than the bread that found the lips of strapped loins falling the cost of signed.
Perhaps the Mint has lost the press that beauty of a dollar on the value of the fine. Lines that draw a plight often fall amongst the findings to travel the muds as the pottery in a history wheel. Turning to point the pier as the wharf of man.
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