Dwelling apart, the star-signs changed,
hope lost, the living divided from the dead.
The last cinnamon dries in the apple jug,
old rue grows cold on the bookslips.
River winds keen, blowing wild geese,
mountain trees’ sunset glow, bearing cicades.
I shout once, my head turns a thousand times,
but Heaven is high and will not hear me.
translatedby Stephen Owen
Sarah Torribio and her right brain. Music. Musings. Writing. Style.
Fine Arts
Life, love and destiny.
4TheRecord is dedicated primarily to Ausmusic from all eras and most genres, we will explore the dynamics of the creative process, and reveal the great drama, lyricism, musicality, and emotion behind each classic song.
Fii schimbarea pe care vrei sa o vezi in lume!
Moments de vie, fragments de textes et quelques notes...
Unleashing the beauty of creativity
there's nothing like stories
quiet moments in nature
Art and Literature Beyond Borders
A bird's eye view of St. George, Utah
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Chronicling an ever-changing city through faded and forgotten artifacts
I read, rant and write ;)
Sono una donna libera. Nel mio blog farete un viaggio lungo e profondo nei pensieri della mente del cuore e dell anima.
The Green Lizard Log
Leonard Durso 
Well shared 👌
Thank you. He’s a personal favorite poet of mine.
You are welcome 🙂
So wonderful to see your name pop up and return a visit, Leonard. I love the powerful ending to this piece. Thanks for sharing. 🙂
Thank you. I love those last lines, too.
Beautiful. Thank you
Glad you like it.
Managing revenue is an uneasy job and can cause a lot of stress.😰
Certainly true.
So much heart touching,dear zduno💕🙏💕
Very true.
💕🙏💕💚🙏💚❤🙏❤