The wind is brisk, the hour late.
Dead leaves swirl against my flimsy gate.
Dead leaves swirl against my flimsy gate.
-
gregorystees likes this
-
uncertaintimes likes this
-
chagalov likes this
-
thetranscendentalmodernist likes this
-
biai likes this
-
rerylikes likes this
-
fattyfalldown likes this
-
crashinglybeautiful likes this
-
billyjane likes this
-
morningsuicide likes this
-
half-formed-things likes this
-
catherinewillis likes this
-
nonsensemachine likes this
-
darksilenceinsuburbia likes this
-
yama-bato posted this