I Am a Rose Thrust at the Heavens by Ron Burch
Grief rubs a red rose against the top pane of the front window during a pleasant time where the day unfurls like a carpet, disappearing under our feet.
Grief rubs a red rose against the top pane of the front window during a pleasant time where the day unfurls like a carpet, disappearing under our feet.
She woke me up from sleep to tell me that the chirping from the cricket was keeping her awake.