Evening stars shine brightest in the (K)night
Writing is such a subjective thing, one day your poem is glorious, the next day its ridiculous...I love to write, poems, stories and attach them to pictures.
The world can be wonderful, the world can be dreadful but this page is neither.

In the woods she crept,

Forgetting the night was alive,

Awake with creatures,

And lonely sounds,

Silently she crept,

Hoping to be found. 

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