The old black bag, now faded and worn,
struggles to hide senescence, decrepitude, decay.
The moon, awash behind heavy cloud and dark rain,
smiles brightly in the sea of black and ancient light pricks.
Showing posts with label decrepitude. Show all posts
Showing posts with label decrepitude. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
2012.01.04 — The old black bag, now faded and worn (A River of Stones#1-04)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)