A Writer Unpolished. A Poet Hidden. A Traveller Unexplored.
A Child Masked. That is me yet it is not. For a few words
can't describe a person, a few novels can't even try. That
said and done ;)
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs And towards our distant rest began to trud…
