Doar
|
it has been placed upon another place, a place of peace and while it dies, the place it remembers dies as well. it was planted by my hands, and it was teared over by my eyes, as a wet afternoon , a tour of an afternoon. We placed Lilies at the decorated tomb and then we left, it seemed as if when in life we were afraid to notice him. I watched him die, in his comfort chair. I didn't know what to say to him. I muttered something and left. and there was no rose left.
|
100725
|