No luck of clovers here Posted on March 15, 2021 by davidguerrieriwrites If a man’s to charge me now I don’t think that I could move Blinded by the sun The insects stand aloof Counting blades of grass No luck of clovers here Each day’s a hangman’s pity Each night’s a cross to bear Share this:TwitterFacebookLinkedInRedditTumblrLike this:Like Loading...
Words Of An Average White Male 