Steeple tops stymying climbers to a fall.
Broadway rooms for all.
Rises with wet scars, tears and blood.
Robes are worn through storm breaks.
Is the gift of Love undying.
Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
Read 504 times
Written on 2014-05-21 at 15:29
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)