autumn 09/12/2017 by max The sun gives sharp pain like a low man newly rich. The deer drops his horns like a thankless friend. The waters grow lucid like a saint’s pious thought; and the mud is squeezed dry like a poor man ·who keeps a mistress. Bhasa Share this:Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window)Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on Reddit (Opens in new window)Click to share on Telegram (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window)Click to share on Skype (Opens in new window)Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pocket (Opens in new window)Like this:Like Loading... Related