I miss the songs
I miss the music, and the way we laughed before they came, when only wine was red. I miss the innocence with friends, the draught of beer we shared before […]
Daily Archives: November 17, 2015
My Christmas passed
I miss my father’s calloused hand in mine the silence when, on Christmas morn, we walked into the snowy woods to find some greens to decorate, adorn our crib, the […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 