Oh, hunting season, how I love thee (sometimes)
For thou takest mine husband and progeny out of mine sight.
Lost in such depths of despair that in mine loneliness,
I crawled forth
Germs of ideas sprouting in the cavernous recesses of my head
Spewing forth in letters and words
Spidering across the lucent glowing screen
Multiplying in indecent haste into
23,000 words
And 80 pages
1 comment:
Good job, Kir!!
Post a Comment