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by T.P. Wilkinson / June 12th, 2022
Sense of silk
Never barefoot have I tread Never a book I had not read Could sift like sand between my toes, or amplify my woes. In the morning air the world’s scents my nose can reach every tearful eye there hope and love to teach.
This article was posted on Sunday, June 12th, 2022 at 8:02am and is filed under Poetry.