Sunday 22nd November
.
A soft, mundane stillness
Permeates the damp air
Fallen leaves no longer crisp
Dewy moss everywhere
Wafting wisps of woodsmoke
Striving to cling to one’s hair
.
Still missing you sweetie
Treasured Angel son
xxxxx
Sunday 22nd November
.
A soft, mundane stillness
Permeates the damp air
Fallen leaves no longer crisp
Dewy moss everywhere
Wafting wisps of woodsmoke
Striving to cling to one’s hair
.
Still missing you sweetie
Treasured Angel son
xxxxx
Oh how I get what you mean
LikeLiked by 1 person
Very many thanks.
x
LikeLike