Fantasy’s Cradle

a poem

Photo Courtesy of Author

I see colors when I close my eyes,

Blades of grass on butterflies;

Stones cut crooked by water’s wrath,

Fruit rolling down a narrow path;

Faces with names I wish not to recall,

Some I remember who gave out their all;

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N.S. Simko

N.S. Simko

2.1K Followers

Poetry, prose, short stories, and experimentations. Whatever distracts me from working on my novel.