Monday, November 1, 2004The Croix of Death's MarchThick bound pages, leather faced worn like apple skin, drying in the sun words written and rewritten, time a fable while the congregation opens their eyes to the weeping widow, donning black across a body of secrets, forgiving Father for not asking when taking, yet always taking a holy scavenger,... Sign in to see full entry.posted by MiaElla at 7:52 AM Comments (6) (permalink) |
