Empathetic Letters

Winter bells above a garden of pebbles,

by the wings of fairies they would sway.

Of fallings leaves and withering flowers,

of the eternal cycles of nature’s play.

Why need we to our histories cling?

Why fear we of a distant chime?

When years grow by the passing springs,

and our lives are but stories through time.

Published in: on 08/12/2015 at 9:03 AM  Leave a Comment  

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To thyself be true my friend

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