Is Love
Midwives and winding sheets know birthing is hard and dying is mean and living's a trial in between. Why do we journey, muttering like rumors among the stars? Is a dimension lost? Is it love?
PoetryVerse
Midwives and winding sheets know birthing is hard and dying is mean and living's a trial in between. Why do we journey, muttering like rumors among the stars? Is a dimension lost? Is it love?
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