hands paled to the touch
dwelling, thinking, worrying
for every fallen leaf
for every river
that comes to it's end
YOU ARE READING
strangers
Poetrywe are all strangers, are we not? [© 2014, silencieuse. All rights reserved]
24: the worrier
hands paled to the touch
dwelling, thinking, worrying
for every fallen leaf
for every river
that comes to it's end