My dad came home from work and sat on the black leather couch in the living room. He always sat in the same spot. He always looked tired. Every night went the same: first work, then couch until the ... [+]
She sells SeashellsOn the seashoreSure, she sells theseSeashellsBut does she see the shore? Or only the shells in her sandy handsBleached by the sun's toothy smileYet colored in comparison to the pale seaOh did she but see the seaPoseidon's trident would oft strike her heart. She longed for his balmy, reposeful caressThe cool waves shaking their foamy heads To danceTo dance To danceHow she did wish to have seaweed for hairCorals for eyes And sea shells for ornate breastsAnd the skin of mermen manyDraped as lowly hung skirts on