small poems & small plates
Thou dost sit by thy widow in the rain and watch for hillside miracles. Too numerous, these colors, these scents, the green of a just washed valley, warm in the wings of a beast small as a coin.
Thou dost sit by thy widow in the rain and watch for hillside miracles. Too numerous, these colors, these scents, the green of a just washed valley, warm in the wings of a beast small as a coin.
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