Summertime. It was a song. It was a season. I wondered if that season would ever live inside of me.
Last Night I Sang to the MonsterIt’s when I’m around some people that my entire vocabulary goes on vacation. Like now
A Little Wanting SongWe are not perfect. We make mistakes. We screw up but then we forgive and move forward.
The Last SongAh me, but where are now the songs I sang When life was sweet because you call’d them sweet?
Poems of Christina Rossetti