Illustration, Story Telling, and Wondering


September 7, 2018

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April 21, 2017

Arising from the plain; a hill, 
its like unknown, it’s age undreamed.
It trembled once upon a time, 
So once it was believed. 

There I did wander restless,
Upon it’s slopes I took to climb
It’s sylvan hide,
flesh of lime;
now drowning in the depths of time.
And whose words there echoed on the wind?
Were they his?
Could they be mine?
I saw them scattered on the peak, 
I saw them splinter, 
Saw them shine.
Such words a poet hopes to speak,
Borne biting on the...

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© 2017 by Joseph Scrobb. Created with

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