Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
-
Damn you Nightingale! Must thee plaint ev’ry darling morn? Hush Hush Away! Mi son still snore by six upon mi chest Away away Mig... -
Poetry, When I am sickly ripen And this frigid being Having its final uncheerful bounce On my wooden foam; That is when I can ...
No comments:
Post a Comment