The tough ground hurts my feet as I walk along.
I'm tired and there is no stream in which I can quench my thirst.
There is not a tree in sight that can provide me with shade.
When will my journey end?
YOU ARE READING
Sketches
PoetryPoems that describe a lot of random things in First Person. It's not the best, but I guess it's okay. It has really cool pictures, though.
