A little road not made of man,Enabled of the eye,Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly. If town it have, beyond itself,‘T is…
The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad for life, mad for talking, mad for poetry.
A little road not made of man,Enabled of the eye,Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly. If town it have, beyond itself,‘T is…