Mar 2020
It seems that I am destined
To love the sound of such leaves
Rustling in the Autumnal memory
Even when another once wished to climb
The very height of my own trees
I am haunted and haunting
Though unconsciously done
To love the sound of such leaves
Rustling in the Autumnal memory
Even when another once wished to climb
The very height of my own trees
I am haunted and haunting
Though unconsciously done
Tearing, ever torn between. You do not own the sound of leaves on a voiceful day. But the one thing I can own is my own inability. With pride I take it. Because you know who? I finally do. Though I still hear rustlings in my dreams. RIP me. LOL.
