Showing Results 1 - 2 of 2
The rain cleaned off the steep facade of houses;
I write upon the white and stony sheet
And feel how my tired hand so softly rouses
From love poems that always, sweetly, were a cheat.
I wake in the…
In came the beginning of the month of December 1918.
Like the cheerless, cold drizzle, dirty frozen air hovers over the fields. Everywhere fragments of sky seem to be scattered over mounds of earth…