The Minstrel
The oak she leaned her back against was twisted, gnarled, and bent —A fitting place for one last song, one …
The oak she leaned her back against was twisted, gnarled, and bent —A fitting place for one last song, one …
An ember sparked will softly glow, and fed by fuel, will grow and grow. I once was cinder, sparked by …
wake me when the careless moon impales on naked branches and stardust thrashes through ocean waves before surrendering to the …
Here against the face of clarity My faults attend the rush of your caress; I am the cliff before the …