A Poem by Hazel Anna Rogers
I wake, open, Into the arms of the gentle night. Not yet do the silhouettes of naked boughs Charm the light, Nor has the soft chatter of sharp beaks Set […]
This. That. Bric-a-brac.
I wake, open, Into the arms of the gentle night. Not yet do the silhouettes of naked boughs Charm the light, Nor has the soft chatter of sharp beaks Set […]