Rabid
The gray fox sat and gazed at us like an angel— one that foamed at the mouth.
I refuse to write another poem about the goddamn crows.
Holding a rifle is like holding an infant, wary of setting it off.
Dave Bonta
SourceLicence:CC BY-SA 4.0
The gray fox sat and gazed at us like an angel— one that foamed at the mouth.
I refuse to write another poem about the goddamn crows.
Holding a rifle is like holding an infant, wary of setting it off.