In a garden you wait for summer to begin and the first casualty is spring.
It’s lost in nameless blossoms crushed in your hands.
The verses become perfume found and lost in books you will never read.
As if solely to say, “the heart is a palace without a key”.
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 7:15 PM UTC
In a garden you wait for summer to begin and the first casualty is spring.
It’s lost in nameless blossoms crushed in your hands.
The verses become perfume found and lost in books you will never read.
As if solely to say, “the heart is a palace without a key”.