Grandma, there will be a day,when the sounds I playwon’t be for your smiles.but ratherto remember you.Acerbic tones float from my cellowill mirror the sting of loss winding aroundmy griefwhile sap-dusted strings wail andburrow into my fingers.How...
Grandma, there will be a day,when the sounds I playwon’t be for your smiles.but ratherto remember you.Acerbic tones float from my cellowill mirror the sting of loss winding aroundmy griefwhile sap-dusted strings wail andburrow into my fingers.How...