There she sat, clutching anxiously at her crutch-shaped glass.
Staring blankly into the forest of unnamed strangers.
She is a meek flower that loses its petals from an ocean breeze,
but hand her a pen,
and she is the God of Thunder.
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 5:17 PM UTC
There she sat, clutching anxiously at her crutch-shaped glass.
Staring blankly into the forest of unnamed strangers.
She is a meek flower that loses its petals from an ocean breeze,
but hand her a pen,
and she is the God of Thunder.
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