Why is it, when I am in Rome,
I'd give an eye to be at home,
But when on native earth I be,
My soul is sick for Italy?
And why with you, my love, my lord,
Am I spectacularly bored,
Yet do you up and leave me- then
I scream to have you back again?
Written by Dorothy Parker
*****
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EVERY WOMAN || 2019 || Completed
PoetryEvery woman beautiful like nature. Every woman is strong like the flurry of winds holding nothing but aught of value and love. She is enough. She is like breath that is naught, but life that doesn't fickle. Every woman is beautiful, made in the ima...
