The RecluseA Poem by andrew mitchell
Across her pages
of stories told, the actress. Her love was sold nothing was gained. She was left alone, forgotten. She was to blame.
© 2015 andrew mitchell |
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1 Review Added on September 21, 2015 Last Updated on September 21, 2015 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.. |

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