O what a tangled web weaved over me. Breeding no lines halcyon luring indecipherable scrawls. O scrabbled pinched of error baffling my steps. “foggy cloud are near”. O mirror…. through which we see. Modelling of flowers can be restricted from growing an inch. Thy vehicle transported us, hold no string of faring us. Sprouting away …
Parental Yoke | Rising-of-the-Sun Read More »
The post Parental Yoke | Rising-of-the-Sun appeared first on Best Poetry.
Go to Source
Author: Best Poetry Online
