Little Worlds
It is but pure chance that renders us all, prone to fits of idle pause, before time rushes on in through stagnant air. Then, shadow...
It is but pure chance that renders us all, prone to fits of idle pause, before time rushes on in through stagnant air. Then, shadow...
Empty footfalls, leave trackless patterns, on the mat of colored leaves. Here in a fall afternoon. I believe it’s still there. Even though I know...
Too many thoughts, leave pools of doubt, where headaches dwell. Thinking a little less, but still too much, makes your head swell, as you head...
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