Sunrise butterflies,
Dusk sky's, doves fly, dawn's owls' sighs,
Ravens' dark cries.
How does it work?
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.
More stories from Amanda Mitchell and writers in Poets and other communities.
The sun was hot, crowd loud, wind had blown steady I sat in my gown, staring at the institution I had grown to hate Hurry up and call my name, I promise I am ready
By Amanda Mitchell5 years ago in Poets
I’m out and about Strutting through the daffodils Flicking back my hair Doing my thing I feel your stares I hear your whispers
By Mother Combs2 days ago in Poets
kids don’t need toys but surely a garden like this to bloom their souls. Note: I had the dream of a garden. Just when the baby came, my spouse got us a house with backyard space. I turned it into a little paradise. Here she roamed. We enjoyed our time there, watering, planting, harvesting. The garden was beautiful setting for her nourishment of her formative years.
By Seema Patel4 days ago in Poets
The short form of tomorrow is never the whole story. Abbreviations mean nothing when we are born to die and we all are aren't we? Being spoken for before birth is something we're not supposed to remember like some kind of karma after effect. Still here we are spending our lives looking for each other.
By Canuck Scriber Lisa Lachapellea day ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.