"And here lived the king,
in the mist; among us,
being not him, just
a drunken old man"
My poems don't make sense. I can write a few sensible pages. I mainly write what I like and will continue to do so. As soon as the dandelions bloom, I will perish away.
"And here lived the king,
in the mist; among us,
being not him, just
a drunken old man"
My poems don't make sense. I can write a few sensible pages. I mainly write what I like and will continue to do so. As soon as the dandelions bloom, I will perish away.