To lay one's head against Earth's breast.A Poem by andrew mitchell
Well rattle my timbers
in a box of earthly collectables six feet under. A bag of bones lies upon your breast the love has flown the rib cage empty as is the soul you caressed, and somewhere carried - a mind miles away in thought. Hello Mother!
© 2020 andrew mitchell |
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Added on February 19, 2020 Last Updated on February 22, 2020 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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