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XXX-L Feral Æ A-12s
tr3vin.bsky.social
did:plc:xpllmwekpncclgvnjyzdrvb3
To the Sea, to the Sea! The white gulls are crying,
The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying.
West, west away, the round sun is falling.
. . .
I will leave, I will leave the woods that bore me;
For our days are ending and our years failing.
I will pass the wide waters lonely sailing.
2024-07-02T22:17:38.016Z