Her Chicken Scratch / Poetry

Starts with a Painting

I watched a person, watching a painting. You could tell they were contemplating the idea of visiting the place. The place where warm waves crash on the shores. Where the lighthouse shines as brightly at night as the sun does in the day. I’m sure they could feel the salty crisp breeze coming off the ocean. I could just by looking at them. Written by Alecia Writes


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