Away, if I could but go
And climb like days of old
The hidden hills, clinging
‘Mid the horizon’s lowest folds
Tell me when the greys will brighten
And ease recover haste
And sharper relief lay to rest
The years that went to waste
Away, if I could but go
And climb like days of old
The hidden hills, clinging
‘Mid the horizon’s lowest folds
Tell me when the greys will brighten
And ease recover haste
And sharper relief lay to rest
The years that went to waste
| Heart on Fire |
Thoughts, Stories, Poems
Un poème n'est jamais fini, seulement abandonné. A poem is never finished, only abandoned."Paul Valéry"
The Poetry of Emotion
Read on, it's good for the brain.
Scientist by day 🌞 poet by night🌛// business inquiries: huffinesc16@students.ecu.edu
My Own Paradise: Life on Seven and a Half Acres
Serial Outlet 