Ever she would, ever more reaching out, her heart failing, falling still. Ever she was touched, held close, everwell, the truth inside ever a lie Ever she feared she'd acknowledge the truth, in the ever of forever her love would remain a dream. ©November 2016, May 2021 Christina Anne Hawthorne
The essence of Ontyre captured in images.
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Lydia Rae Bush Poetry
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I'm not insane, I'm a writer.
Christina Anne Hawthorne 