Gone Days of Yore
by cereseithne
Gambolled round and round
beneath the vermilion mulberry boughs
I foraged on when hungered by
the scorching fury of the sun,
but now all these limbs and roots
were deflagrated into great ruins.
My springtime is gone forever.
YOU ARE READING
A Voyage to Anthemoessa
PoetryLonely, we blazed through the precipitous trails of our perennial springs as though we were not distinctively dwellers of our own lands. Its conundrums, which oftentimes hit us like combers, we endeavor to embark on to illuminate its intricacies. We...
