Sins of a Father
Dust of their passing,
Clung upon the fresh spring air,
Soft breeze pushing it about,
‘Cross white picket fence,
To mar still damp washing,
Hanging over newborn grass.
Clung upon the fresh spring air,
Soft breeze pushing it about,
‘Cross white picket fence,
To mar still damp washing,
Hanging over newborn grass.
1 comment:
Genetics can't be avoided. My take on it anyway.
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