Tales From The Patio: #1 Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr
Tales From The Patio: #1
The lass with the
Crimson cheeks
Stood beside me
And I can catch her scent
Even from a far.
It was different.
She smelt not of
Raspberries,
Not of November even,
But she was different.
Who am I, again?
Friday, December 30, 2011
Topic(s) of this poem: november
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8/29/2026 11:11:40 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
