His corner of the world was one of concrete His soles raw from cold cobblestones (yet all he saw was shoes.) The answer to everyone's riddle is there: in his rags, his unkempt mane, his bruised and scarred arms.
Poetry, motherhood and beyond.
His corner of the world was one of concrete His soles raw from cold cobblestones (yet all he saw was shoes.) The answer to everyone's riddle is there: in his rags, his unkempt mane, his bruised and scarred arms.