Maxioms by Alexander Smith
We bury love,
Forgetfulness grows over it like grass;
That is a thing to weep for, not read more
We bury love,
Forgetfulness grows over it like grass;
That is a thing to weep for, not the dead.
The sea complains upon a thousand shores.
The sea complains upon a thousand shores.
Every man's road in life is marked by the graves of his personal likings.
Every man's road in life is marked by the graves of his personal likings.
