Lonely blow the winds of change,

they steal, ice cold through every hour,

what was is not, and cannot be.

All that’s left will fall away, leave

an empty shell of me.

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allets's picture


"...winds...that steal, ice cold, through every hour..." Fine piece of writing this. Enjoyed and empathized. Change. - Lady A



sweetwater's picture

Thank you so much Stella.

Thank you so much Stella. Apologies for such a late reply. X