There are no magic words, but words can still move sticks and stones. And mountains.
I don’t dream any more. But you have one that reoccurs. I don’t remember it all. And carefully interpreted, And concluded at the time I heard it,
By Beth Fry3 years ago in Poets
Familiar friend, rare. Wide, touching every eye. Wild. We empathize.
blue bulb broke on tree It’s our world hanging onto Christmas misery
