Labor toils in us... Even in the dew Of mornings, new, and evenings hue... Labor grinds us into bleached bones... Yet, grateful, we must know the songs of harvest, gold . . . By EvelynMine
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Labor toils in us... Even in the dew Of mornings, new, and evenings hue... Labor grinds us into bleached bones... Yet, grateful, we must know the songs of harvest, gold . . . By EvelynMine
Posts
All Comments