crowns (Remove filter)
Forced
its a far cry from Bucharest
in this dark and earthy shed,
thinks of her tearful mother
the man she's shortly to wed
draughts slice wooden walls,
rats scuttering in the hay-loft,
rubbing her hands for warmth
tells herself not to be so soft
slim candles shadow the gloom,
bloke appears in muddy boots,
shoving his wheelbarrow in a
mini-forest of sprouting ro...
Friday 11th December 2020 10:45 am
Recent Comments
keith jeffries on Matheus Luis Duarte
24 minutes ago
John Coopey on Form is everything! what's your favourite?
2 hours ago
John Coopey on Form is everything! what's your favourite?
2 hours ago
David RL Moore on The Slipknot of Truth
3 hours ago
Stephen Gospage on The Naughty Little Boy
4 hours ago
Hélène on POINTING AT BOATS
4 hours ago
keith jeffries on TO CHOOSE
11 hours ago
Bethany Sallis on Two Sexy Women
12 hours ago
Bethany Sallis on The Naughty Little Boy
12 hours ago
Bethany Sallis on TO CHOOSE
13 hours ago