I Must Learn How To Walk: Poems About The March of Time
We shed skin, memories, relationships, pieces of ourselves: none of us are immune from the passage of time. Imprisoned by age, are we doomed to years of an insomniac lament of our youth?
We shed skin, memories, relationships, pieces of ourselves: none of us are immune from the passage of time. Imprisoned by age, are we doomed to years of an insomniac lament of our youth?