"Oak, granite,
Lilies by the road,
Remember me?
I remember you.
Clouds brushing
Clover hills,
Remember me?
I remember you.
Sister, child,
Grown tall,
Remember me?
I remember you."
By Gail Carson Levine
"The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink." - T.S. Eliot
Wednesday, 15 January 2014 Comments Off
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