As the late summer sun sinks low and can hear lonely sounds,
At the front grave, bamboo clashing, hills echo with chirping sounds.
The wild grasses grow unchecked, blocking for guest's feet,
And moss on stone-statue talks the latter years' hardness complete.
(23rd, Aug.,2023, Kinsley Lee)
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Author:
Kinsley Lee (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 29th, 2023 07:19
- Category: Short story
- Views: 0
Offline)
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