The ladle's cast aside, the cup not green, The stove still looks as if a fiery red. To many places, communications are broken, I sit, but cannot read my books for grief.
Click any product to generate a realistic preview. Up to 3 at a time.
* Initial load can take up to 90 seconds — revising the preview in another color is nearly instant.
"My poems are no use—they won’t fill anyone’s stomach."
"I laugh at myself: an old madman growing older, growing madder."
"Saddened by the times I weep at the flowers tormented by the partings even the birds startle my heart."
"Dew is heavy on the grass below, the spider's web is ready. Heaven's ways include the human: among a thousand sorrows, I stand alone."
"My thatched roof is torn by autumn winds—the village boys steal my thatch."
Your cart is empty
