Talk 7 – Special
Short Story We are back where we started. Where is the bear? He is never late. Maybe his parents are in town. Let’s go upstairs, he will have to catch up. This is...
Tagged: mourning
Mourning of the Morning
Poem There were blues in the hues of the morning, mourning the end of night. There, too, were warm rays of sunshine upon the heads of early doves. Words were absent from the...
