tonyv Posted May 24, 2009 Share Posted May 24, 2009 A nomad never paid to write a poem; he nowise could stand still to be with you. The city where I found you is a ghost; it does not matter to it who you are. Cornflower skies and steppes extend; they blend where night descends. I never wrote a poem. Quote Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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