But falls it not to the poet, to mourn the deaths of children that never were?
Those wings he saw denuded by gray light, the woof and weft cross her shoulders sundered by shining knives
kobolds lonely in their deeps, and haunts, spun gossamer in windy gaps blown away by a harsh wind of observation
So lonely they, and lonelier now that they never ever were.
i'm on ambien, pardon my sklippetture.
oh jegus fuck what did i write last night. Sorry about that, rational people! Ignore me!
But falls it not to the poet, to mourn the deaths of children that never were?
Those wings he saw denuded by gray light, the woof and weft cross her shoulders sundered by shining knives
kobolds lonely in their deeps, and haunts, spun gossamer in windy gaps blown away by a harsh wind of observation
So lonely they, and lonelier now that they never ever were.
i'm on ambien, pardon my sklippetture.
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thanks!