Do it as if this
Is your last chance to do this
Well, for it may be
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
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Confessions of an Empath
The birds are chirping, and the sun is shining in a cloudless July sky. The vibrancy promises a beautiful day, but the cooing of the Mourning Dove perched on the powerlines seems to be more fitting than the lively songs of the robin flitting through the trees. The melancholic calls of the dove cloak the world in a sadness that hangs like tattered drapes.
By Alyssa Nicole4 days ago in Confessions
Comments (6)
Perfect. But he should have practiced, obviously, when he was alive. After all, it's the only way you can get to Carnegie Hall when you're alive.
I'm going to the garden centre this morning. I shall carry this close....
And that's how we should live life. Always be kind to others! Loved your poem!
I never hear the fiddle but sometimes, I think I hear his skeletal breathing.
Interesting and insightful as always! Question - what does ekphrastic mean?
Very interesting!