The winter wind is like a cold surf beating through the bare treetops and sweeping through the valleys. It roars in the night, an elemental voice it whistles at the house and TD corner and it rattles the shutter and the pane.
The winter wind is like a cold surf beating through the bare treetops and sweeping through the valleys. It roars in the night, an elemental voice it whistles at the house and TD corner and it rattles the shutter and the pane.
Summer ends, and Autumn comes, and he who would have it otherwise would have high tide always and a full moon every night.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories