Voiceless
Her childhood is a blur,
a rootless flower,
a roofless house,
a thunderstorm,
a collection of wistful memories her heart wants to forget
but can’t
Whispers of a yellow butterfly
“Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart” – William Wordsworth
Her childhood is a blur,
a rootless flower,
a roofless house,
a thunderstorm,
a collection of wistful memories her heart wants to forget
but can’t