Hour Eight Posted on August 13, 2016 5:42pm EDTAugust 13, 2016 6:34pm EDT by hdavis8765 DEATH OF FLOWERS sunbeams kiss my window blinds but white lilies die while traffic fills the interstate.
Sometimes a poem is like a definition of a word. This one feels like it could go in a poetic dictionary next to “morning” Reply
Sometimes a poem is like a definition of a word. This one feels like it could go in a poetic dictionary next to “morning”