Hark! The rhythm
Hark! The rhythm. The pellet drum rattles. The dance begins. The creation, the annihilation, the fleeing in-betweens, and beyond these appar...
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The sun was nearly gone. So were the last of his passengers. That was what he thought. Driving the cab at snail-pace through city’s traffi...
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He went there. Daily. Unfailingly. His conversations, Candid, Intimate. And why not! He had Inspired That iron-man, ...
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You’re asking me The color Of A broken heart? I’d say It’s still red That is Minus The Ebullience, Vibrancy And Ex...
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ReplyDeleteThe View from the Top of the Ladder
Thank you Susie.
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ReplyDeleteThank you so much Anne
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