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TOWARDS THE STORM
—we made a boat out of feathers, out of bones.
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Created on 2016-08-08 05:38:53 (#2538391), last updated 2018-08-10 (389 weeks ago)
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| Name: | ᴀʀᴛʜᴜʀ ᴄᴜʀʀʏ ♆ AQUAMAN |
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The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
Along the sea-sands damp and brown
The traveller hastens toward the town,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
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