||Do the coming seasons know of my awake?
Or do they reminisce of my demise time and time?
Does the shiver of the willow taste my scent?
Or does it weep in the wonders of where I went?
YOU ARE READING
September was good to me.
PoetrySeptember was good to me. But it was also bad too. [poems of my seasonal depression and other things]
Season's greivings
||Do the coming seasons know of my awake?
Or do they reminisce of my demise time and time?
Does the shiver of the willow taste my scent?
Or does it weep in the wonders of where I went?
