Autumn is over
And winter is here
And words on a page
No longer fall naturally into poems.
What is it about Autumn that seems to marshal words with so little effort?
Autumn is over
And winter is here
And words on a page
No longer fall naturally into poems.
What is it about Autumn that seems to marshal words with so little effort?
Seasons in time
Seasons in nature
Seasons in laughter
Seasons in crying
Season in joy
Seasons in tears
Rest for Jesus is always near