A quiet introvert with an inner fire who loves to discern and describe inner worlds.
There once was a boy of three or four, His mother was always out the door. He'd wait by the glass, Watching time slowly pass,
By Judit Gabris2 years ago in Poets
The magician hurried along his row of spinning plates, caught the first one and swung around. His slick touch kept his show afloat, like a seal playing with fish. His audience was ecstatic.
By Judit Gabris2 years ago in Fiction
