23Reads
0Likes
1Min read
Through the seasons of the soul, I stand, Where hope feels like a gloom-heavy land. But the grayest clouds are bound to pass by, Leaving room for a clearer, softer sky.
Through the seasons of the soul, I stand, Where hope feels like a gloom-heavy land. But the grayest clouds are bound to pass by, Leaving room for a clearer, softer sky.
Loading comments…