Incognito Prowler
But why mourn the woes of winter, when the birds lay stark and stiff so stern was Ida's snow? Or summers scorch, on a lazy noon, when the sea fell level and asleep under a windless sky? Why mourn old woes? Their pain has passed.
Archive
Apr
28th
Tue
wolfdebris
:
intoxicatedrats
:
rook
:(via
songbirds
)
