And it’s a hitchhike a hundred miles, I’m a rag a muffin child
A gentle song blows softly through the acroamatic clouds, across the troposphere, and winds its way down the slip-stream to …
Tag Archives: Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass
The Scripter Axiom.
You will finish the tome, It may not be today. And though years pass like buses, You shall find …
On a lighter note – A moonlight sonnet (ah)
I, the moon, would like it known – I never follow people home. I simply do not have the time. …
Esmeralda and The Cloud 