She resides in the attic,
Dressed with cobwebs and smiles,
She waits patiently for her husband and sons to come home.
This year, the harvest provided the biggest and reddest of apples.
Next door, the pear tree produced none.
Upon the ridge is the steady flow of traffic,
No more horse carriages and first time cars getting stuck in the mud.
The house she lives in was built in 1924. Protecting all that come in
and humming to herself as she prepares a meal.
The house that still is blessed with it's original wood work and that Swedish charm.
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Placed in a hole, I’m waiting for a beacon to shine its light upon my hand. To look at you straight into eyes, cast down up cement memories.... -
We are the agents of despair knocking on your door. If you answer you will see a sickle and scythe, We are not malicious nor will we come af...
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Time did not stand still It shaped its road for us to leave the past To rain soaked pavements, fallen leaves, high altitudes underneath the ...
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