I sing myself to sleep
And slumber amid strains of perfect harmony
I awaken to a symphony
^^^^^^^^^^
He said the right words
I thought him perfect and I trusted.
But Pseudologos was his name
^^^^^^^^^^
The willow scoops the air
No weeping do the tiny birds allow
They dance in freshest breeze
About the Creator
Marie McGrath
Things that have saved me:
Animals
Music
Sense of Humor
Writing
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