It wasn't his station!A Poem by andrew mitchell
When the warmth
of her tone fell on deaf ears, it wasn't his station, she had the wrong track, and so the mood played out on ice with two glasses in the making, she heard the front door close, and with it her goals for the evening laid bare on satin sheets, if only she picked me. © 2017 andrew mitchell |
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1 Review Added on May 7, 2017 Last Updated on May 7, 2017 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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