dom2001

The gate through which we ran
Past nettles and unkept grass
Clatters against cracked paving stone, tumbling on,
our land to roam

The tree in which we sat
Our neighbours kind, the summer early
The shouts in which we cast
Our love for each maiden journey

The fields in which we claimed
The light to be our own
Conquered worlds, wooden swords
A stones throw...
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I like this world. For reasons best known to me.

Meeting the ideas of a person without meeting the person, is still the purpose of meeting.

I think??

Joined. Downloaded some photies, watching telly at same time. Had a little look around. Wrote blog.

This is going well