Simply past these blossoms, steps Still and grey upon a morning Damp with dew, a remote area, That I, a careworn vacationer explore. One hundred as well as forty years, The year my father’& rsquo; s grandpa was born, And also names carved on rock like A class roll call. A one, a mother as well as infant daughter, Both dead in [& hellip;]
via Georgia Places: Nation Church —– No Talent For Certainty
