Aug 2017
So many pens have run dry,
I miss the reflections of others.
Like a crypt of cobwebbed words
that others visit, reading faded verse.
I reminisce on words that have become
static, hoping again for a breath of new word.
I miss the reflections of others.
Like a crypt of cobwebbed words
that others visit, reading faded verse.
I reminisce on words that have become
static, hoping again for a breath of new word.
to many have faded but I still visit there words fading from years but still there ink grows within my muse
