bad parisA Poem by winter;lyra
the windmill creaks
a voice of a thousand ghosts held in limbo stale and pillaged atoned to the hill song this is a dream that has been dreamt before a witch in the fire and the knight by the stables a shining star in the barren sky why does it cry is it so a fine day to die? © 2019 winter;lyra |
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Added on June 9, 2019 Last Updated on June 9, 2019 Author
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