The meagre quarterA Poem by MoonieThe past never goes away, we just stop seeing it.
In the year's meagre quarter: When the chilly winds would howl, louder than the wild wolves; and the withered leaves would, litter my porch; When silver birds with pearly eyes, would dance around my window. When the sinister ghosts of life would beckon me, and the spirits of the dead would rise again from their graves, into the night, to linger and roam and haunt the streets that once belonged to them (But belong no more) That is when you would find me... Sometimes stooping, sometimes walking on the pavement, alongside the ghosts... © 2014 MoonieAuthor's Note
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StatsAuthorMoonieAboutIf you're a dreamer, come in If you're a dreamer, a wisher, a liar A hope er, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer, If you're a pretender, come sit by my fire For we have some flax-golden tales to spin .. more..Writing
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