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Courtney

If you don't learn to write your own story, someone else will write it for you

1 poem·Since May 2013
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Duluth

May 22, 2013
Duluth, Cold, beautiful, and blue; Every day is a new season, Bustling with activity one day, Dead the next. With rolling hills blanketed by forest, That dip down and touch the depths of the lake; Where the sun radiates off the glistening water, And the moon sparkles in its ghostly reflection. A bustling city, That burns with thrill; Yet shelter’s its young, In an envelope of safety. I treasure you, my homeland, The place where I thrive; And even though I’ll move away, A piece of me will always remain.
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