In the cold of night murmurs.A Poem by andrew mitchell
In the cold of night
thoughts that creak descend the stairs from the mind’s cemetery. Where they all come and go; some out loud, some in whispers, others wish to speak from the ghost writer. © 2019 andrew mitchellReviews
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1 Review Added on August 13, 2019 Last Updated on August 13, 2019 Authorandrew mitchelladelaide, AustraliaAboutStrindberg said. " When I come home and sit at my writing table, then I live.... I live, and I live in manifold fashion of all human beings. I depict; I am glad with the glad, wicked with the wicked,.. more..Writing
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