Grace At.

Grace At. Poems

On A Cold November Night

On a cold November night,
I sit alone, with the feather
in my hand as my only friend,
and the silence as my only salvation.

Far Away

Far away.
Far away without you.
I can’t touch your golden hair,
I can’t see your blue eyes,

Grace At. Comments

Micheal Dickson 22 November 2008

Nice poem, reveals the untold tale of the heart.

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