THE WIND INSIDE It’s the sound of old hound dogs baying at moon light Ancient train whistles echoing through distant dark It’s the songs crickets sing serenading twilight And rain rap-tap tapping on windows The way the cold wind blows Inside your memories Moving little paint sticks Stirring warmed... Sign in to see full entry.
IMAGES FROM THE DARK ROOM:
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I HAVE THREE TURE LOVES, POETRY, PHOTOGRAPHY, AND NATURAL SCULPTING AND I THINK THAT THIS IS THE PERFECT BLOGSPOT TO BRING ALL LIFE TO EACH
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