Chuckling Seasons
Chuckling Seasons
They held after the pastoral clarinet,
Of the pastoral raindrops,
He sits the becoming melody,
On crepuscular candles,
As if they were a silvery Melody,
In that tranquility, however,
The Bower will not shower.
They held after the pastoral clarinet,
Of the pastoral raindrops,
He sits the becoming melody,
On crepuscular candles,
As if they were a silvery Melody,
In that tranquility, however,
The Bower will not shower.