The stew was boiling on the stove,
All else was silent in the house.
The smell of fresh baked bread lingered,
like sunshine on the folds of the sheets
one lazy Sunday morning...
And she dreamt, cried herself to sleep and woke again to the smell of darkness.
All else was silent in the house.
The smell of fresh baked bread lingered,
like sunshine on the folds of the sheets
one lazy Sunday morning...
And she dreamt, cried herself to sleep and woke again to the smell of darkness.
I just dont know what to do to change it...
Maybe thats the problem, the act of change is so huge, it's easier to just curl up on the couch and do nothing....
Sorry.. too early in the morning for my mind to be rational. Im one of those emotional morning people
I like your poem
Maybe if more people could see the simple beauties of the world, there would be less hate...