Once, I gave a friend a painting, and she cried.
That was the whole story.
Behind my house, a bird cemetery is slowly growing.
It feels prophetic somehow, as if forgiveness could come easily,
light as a wing.
Once, I gave a friend a painting, and she cried.
That was the whole story.
Behind my house, a bird cemetery is slowly growing.
It feels prophetic somehow, as if forgiveness could come easily,
light as a wing.