Poems from Russinia22
It’s cold this time of year
Bitter fights
White frosted hands
and words
School is tiring
Dull and monotonous
It is warm though
All...
Up on the hill in Deer Island Park, a sicamore is felled.
no one attends it's funeral, or wears a black veil in it's honour.
a man used...
there
see it?
Ashes on the windowseal grey my fingertips as I lean over you
a white dog sits by the oak stump in our yard
so? whats so...