A quiet introvert with an inner fire who loves to discern and describe inner worlds.
There once was a boy of three or four, His mother was always out the door. He'd wait by the glass, Watching time slowly pass,
By Judit Gabrisabout a year ago in Poets
The magician hurried along his row of spinning plates, caught the first one and swung around. His slick touch kept his show afloat, like a seal playing with fish. His audience was ecstatic.
By Judit Gabrisabout a year ago in Fiction
