Under the leaves which have freshly fallen, Under the browned, softer ones and Under the mulch and humus debris beneath them, Lies my soul, chest to chest with the earth. It’s the press of a lover. Of longing. Of anguish and …
Under the leaves which have freshly fallen, Under the browned, softer ones and Under the mulch and humus debris beneath them, Lies my soul, chest to chest with the earth. It’s the press of a lover. Of longing. Of anguish and …