So empty is the page
So listless is the soul
So morbid is the age
So deepened is the hole
So dull I see the light
So cold now is the night
So life is void of bliss
So now it’s come to this.
The writings of Francis Winifred
So empty is the page
So listless is the soul
So morbid is the age
So deepened is the hole
So dull I see the light
So cold now is the night
So life is void of bliss
So now it’s come to this.
Reblogged this on The Reluctant Poet.
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