All my life I’ve never been quite sure,
Rused by the perpetually eclipsing penumbral blur,
Until I met a chouette with a heart so pure,
Wherein winter’s eve could emulate a Summery Demure.
May 9, 2019
May 9, 2019 at 1:11 PM UTC
All my life I’ve never been quite sure,
Rused by the perpetually eclipsing penumbral blur,
Until I met a chouette with a heart so pure,
Wherein winter’s eve could emulate a Summery Demure.
