h

hosseahin42

    From that which is forbidden;
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    make him yet confess it
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    Would raise a pang
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    And though at times a slight remorse
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    When we with pain suppress it;
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    As it is very apt to do,
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    His conscience slept a day or two,
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    And hoped the theft was hidden.
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    Laid hands on something not his own,
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    And Richard one day, left alone,
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    At the entrance,
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    pressed against the door
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    she looked out
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    It was a world of white
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    the patterned surfaces of leaves,
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    the cracks and fissures
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    Below the channel lay
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    narrow stream carrying a glinting line
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    She could hear
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    the beating of her own heart.
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