Prime
Your voice is like bells over roofs at dawnWhen a bird fliesAnd the sky changes to a fresher colour.
Speak, speak, Beloved.Say little thingsFor my ears to catchAnd run with them to my heart.
Amy Lowell (1874–1925)
Your voice is like bells over roofs at dawnWhen a bird fliesAnd the sky changes to a fresher colour.
Speak, speak, Beloved.Say little thingsFor my ears to catchAnd run with them to my heart.