I note, always, this time of year, buds, shoots, promises and cuttings off. Must be the rigours of winter hold sway yet. Pushed out from semi Illumination, some warmth, mutual beats and bonded into darkness. Pulled into a seeming pre-determination. Still, hearing little,
Stillborn Lamb
Stillborn Lamb
Stillborn Lamb
I note, always, this time of year, buds, shoots, promises and cuttings off. Must be the rigours of winter hold sway yet. Pushed out from semi Illumination, some warmth, mutual beats and bonded into darkness. Pulled into a seeming pre-determination. Still, hearing little,