Dear Adriana – old lady from the days of yore –
In rain or shine, you and I and many more
Live to toil over many a work and chore:
You peddling flowers from door to door,
And I bound the meaning of words to explore.
Some day, dear Adriana – be it far or near it matters not –,
The ferryman shall carry us over to the other shore,
To the land where pain is pain no more,
But a garden resplendent in shape and form
Where words are flowers that never rot.
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Revision of "Translator in Low Spirits"
Showing posts with label empathy sympathy identification. Show all posts
Showing posts with label empathy sympathy identification. Show all posts
Monday, November 27, 2006
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The White Gloves
You can find the book at https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/524218 The story is taking place in a magic forest. Little Red Ridi...
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Poetry? Fire burning and blooming in the recesses of my heart.
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The fire tipped feet, the fresh red on young girls' white skin, and the seductively exposed flesh have made me, much to my chagrin, ...