Willing proponent of nostalgia.
Walking down that beaten path, and up that cobbled lane. I journeyed to the crown of the hill, the place of the beacon’s flame.
By Will Kearvell25 days ago in Poets
My grandfather was an honest man. He spun words into dreams and old watches into gold. He never did own much other than the stories that he told. Yet, stories to a young boy, were worth more than the time he sold.
By Will Kearvellabout a month ago in Families
