I’ll write when the sun is at rage. Commit when the dark hours cage. I chase words not recognition. The craft seizes me free to flow. We like blue tits playing kiss-chase in the hedgerow. I put down not for he,thee,nor she. I write not even for me.
When the Soul Cried Out for Meaning
I’ll write when the sun is at rage. Commit when the dark hours cage. I chase words not recognition. The craft seizes me free to flow. We like blue tits playing kiss-chase in the hedgerow. I put down not for he,thee,nor she. I write not even for me.