Poem -
past
the murder
those
foresees
he
sleeps
he
casts
beneath
the time
scorched
way
hoists
the great
oblivion
creeps
whichever
practices
the murder
those
foresees
he
sleeps
he
casts
beneath
the time
scorched
way
hoists
the great
oblivion
creeps
whichever
practices
Comments
Post a Comment