Poems from loured640

The empty chair behind us is a reminder. We often see the apparitions, an outline, not etched in painting, transcribed in script. How can...
Splintered amongst our feet, the birchwood door we have come to love. Gave comfort in time of refreshment. Praised security with needless...
The empty chair behind us is a reminder. We often see the apparitions, an outline, not etched in painting, transcribed in script. How can...