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
21st
Tue
bananaslug
:
(via
anniemw
)
HORNED!
