It wasn’t a town called Alice.A Poem by andrew mitchell
The hat I once saw
was not mine but carried far on Mad Hatter’s head. During the French time’s “Off with your bloody head!” came splitting headaches. The blade cut all ties, the body without a head ran like a chicken. The headless horseman gallops towards you and yours mind over matter. © 2020 andrew mitchell |
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1 Review Added on September 21, 2020 Last Updated on September 21, 2020 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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