Jan 2021
Let the morning rise
But the sun's bled dry
As the storm clouds tread
Across the cold blue sky
And then, smiles,
The mourning night.
But the sun's bled dry
As the storm clouds tread
Across the cold blue sky
And then, smiles,
The mourning night.
And then, miles, to get over and walk away from this incredibly bad case of writer's block.
