Pushing a cart through snow ankle-high; winter Sun scalding; cloven hooves send jagged rocks down the hill side, giving way to the bleating. I make it to the pigsty - pigs grunting. Feeding them, my father and civil associates ride horseback into the village commons, campaigning.
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Author:
coracaodacripta (
Offline) - Published: July 10th, 2024 19:42
- Comment from author about the poem: Fantasy
- Category: Short story
- Views: 9
Offline)
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