While the doorbell rings from a thrift shop.A Poem by andrew mitchell
Nothing makes sense
in a thrift shop, memories broken, dreams discarded, the end of the road. All brought together in the hope they will be someone’s treasures, loved and cherished, embodied into someone’s heart. Yes! Please enter. © 2019 andrew mitchell |
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Added on January 26, 2019 Last Updated on January 26, 2019 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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