Riches to rags.A Poem by andrew mitchell
Riches to rags.
There was no going back, only his pages dog-eared, marked his youth trapped in yesterday. Slim was the chance encountering romance; all but whispers a faded fairytale, as he stood wilted, an old dead rose.
© 2016 andrew mitchell |
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Added on November 21, 2016 Last Updated on November 21, 2016 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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