
A man has walked out to be alone with the earth. A man of his age, he equates time with grief most days, but now he has decided to wait. In the silence, where do his raised eyes fit?
I'm not that man, I'm not between the fir and the rot of the pumpkin fields, but I'll pick up the gauntlet of his morning nonetheless,
stand to the side of the fierce contest and not make the eyes of the eagle shift.
Nous publions uniquement les avis qui respectent les conditions requises. Consultez nos conditions pour les avis.