wordspaceThe Wind
20260319
The wind cries low—
not anymore of her,
but of the many things
that we have lost.
We cannot know
nor can we ever say
that brighter days will come
and quell the frost.
Will no one go
and rid us of this curse?
The Wind
20260319
The wind cries low—
not anymore of her,
but of the many things
that we have lost.
We cannot know
nor can we ever say
that brighter days will come
and quell the frost.
Will no one go
and rid us of this curse?
