Feb 2012
The well of the cup,
Gripped by tired hands,
That mixes memories and regrets,
In its bottomless end.
Its still, brown reflection of eyes,
Bears a gentle acknowledgement,
To a tired soul.
Gripped by tired hands,
That mixes memories and regrets,
In its bottomless end.
Its still, brown reflection of eyes,
Bears a gentle acknowledgement,
To a tired soul.
