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by Maple Tree Feb 10, 2020
And even if the ghosts don't sing
their hollow echos after 3 am,
the sparrows will cry upon a branch
when thunder rolls inside my head.
I am nothing without darkness
as trees slowly decay, upon a
fortnight when tear drops slowly
travel down my blush cheeks, as
I taste the salt of 50 years.
by - Mr. Darcy
Thinking of you - ((hugs))
Oh my the last line hits hard.
P.S. This poem has inspired me to write something so I did :)
Oh Andrea, you slay me with your words-love this-
by Ben Pickard
by Em (marmite)