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Jul 2014
The little bird flew down toward my heat,
it took a present for it's starving child.
A throne I made upon a rocky seat.
The trees let loose the whistle of the wild,
against an azure-crimson battlement.
My nose awash with nature's verdant scent.
Before I sleep I promise no respite,
as clocks tick-tock in counting away light.
Kvothe
Written by
Kvothe  28/M/Newcastle, England
(28/M/Newcastle, England)   
521
     ---, Jodie LindaMae, Louise and ---
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