We traipse the halls and wander the walls, …………………shaken, …………stirred by oil and blur.
.. In April, we poem.
I love imagining this is about grieving a death in the family — wandering the halls looking/listening for traces of him still lingering.
Love it
Oh yes. That is so great.
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I love imagining this is about grieving a death in the family — wandering the halls looking/listening for traces of him still lingering.
Love it
Oh yes. That is so great.