And duvets wrote strange poems in language loose.

How kind the air I breathed was when I walked
How  stuffy when I’m back inside the house
The place where ghosts of lost ones call  and stalk
How kind the air I breathed was when I walked
If only sheets and pillows learned to talk
And duvets wrote strange poems in language loose.
How kind the air I breathed was when I walked
How deadly it now seems inside the house

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About Kate Thwaite

I love writing , conversation, art, wild flowers, music and air.And books
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