Poetry The Birth of an Anticipation Fingers, trembling, touched the glass, My heart was racing, my eyes were searching, Searching for that little one. Breath fogged over the barrier, My mind was remembering, hours before, Before
Poetry The Prick Her fingertips caress the end of the stem. Petals echo their scent with every breath. She walks at a slow pace, staring at the windows. Her reflection smiles beside the
