Poems
writer
It was toward the end of September 1956 when the leaves from all the inner-city trees had already fallen.
Adam, in a horrid state, rouses himself up and searches about, no one to be seen.
I confess it again and again.
She had just started washing the cutlery when the phone rang.
Begin to deliver a verdict a long time coming: “Guilty. Guilty.”
The carols, decorations, and glitter drove Marko to anger.
