My love came back to me Under the November tree Shelterless and dim. He put his hand upon my shoulder, He did not think me strange or older, Nor I, him.
My love came back to me Under the November tree Shelterless and dim. He put his hand upon my shoulder, He did not think me strange or older, Nor I, him.
To be shelterless and alone in the open country, hearing the wind moan and watching for day through the whole long weary night to listen to the falling rain, and crouch for warmth beneath the lee of some old barn or rick, or in the hollow of a tree. . .
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories