Lena
hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul
that perches in the soul
Madness, boys who were molten tigers, and lack of control made her eyes widen, rounding again – so different in comparison to what she’d witnessed on the beach, amidst the gathering of souls. “I wonder if that’s a common occurrence with them,” she muttered, idly, mostly to herself. Pocketing the stones, and placing their tools away when they’d acquired enough, she smiled back at the Sentinel – still grateful for his appearance, regardless of the way they rushed around. “Thank you for helping. And of course.”
From there, they could part on their separate ways, perhaps with a little more inclination or observation about multitudes.
[FIN]
From there, they could part on their separate ways, perhaps with a little more inclination or observation about multitudes.
[FIN]
and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all
and never stops at all
