Orly Palmaria Biography

A drop of rain that fell to ripple over the still face of the river basin to lightly wiggle a blade of grass and fan the insubstantial amount of air around its sphere to push it upward a little to the altitude where the vapor once again becomes water and fall all over again on that certain liquid plane and ripple across that surface once more; just a recurrence, an utter repetition of words spoken by men of the old days -- that is me.

Orly Palmaria Popular Poems
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