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Struggling Voice; Not An Echo!
After every dozen, that rejoicing autumn comes,
When weary woes vanish, rejoicing mood drums.
But this eleventh, turned out heavy boots, perhaps; 'Storms make, the oak, grow deeper roots'.
I ask 'Him' no secret, so tell me no lies,
Why...
When weary woes vanish, rejoicing mood drums.
But this eleventh, turned out heavy boots, perhaps; 'Storms make, the oak, grow deeper roots'.
I ask 'Him' no secret, so tell me no lies,
Why...
