October 2009
1 post
1 tag
Gray
Looking at a half-gray opal I remember two beautiful gray eyes I had seen; it must have been twenty years ago…
. . . . . . . . . . .
For a month we loved each other. Then he went away, I believe to Smyrna, to work there, and we never saw each other after that.
The gray eyes—if he is alive—must have grown ugly; the handsome face must have spoiled. Dear Memory, preserve them...