prose (Remove filter)
A Letter To Mr Larkin
An April Sunday brings the snow,
delicately bouncing against the panes of high windows as I watch the dedicated stride towards the Brynmor Jones, strangers to me as I am to you but although we have not met, I feel I know you.
A jam stained solid oak table adorned with scraps of paper, jottings only I could understand reminding me of the perilous homework
often not completed from my school day...
Saturday 16th May 2020 8:06 pm
Recent Comments
Stephen Atkinson on GooGolaria
7 minutes ago
Stephen Atkinson on Why I Loved America
13 minutes ago
Keletso on To my unborn child (A letter carried on wind and wonder)...
4 hours ago
Yanma Hidayah on Void
6 hours ago
Yanma Hidayah on To my unborn child (A letter carried on wind and wonder)...
6 hours ago
John Coopey on EDWARD VIII
7 hours ago
Stephen Gospage on GooGolaria
8 hours ago
Stephen Gospage on EDWARD VIII
8 hours ago
Frances Macaulay Forde on Elephant's Walk
20 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Bitter Heights
21 hours ago