The golden leaves fall in the park,
Before the early creeping dark.
The monuments are turning cold,
As all the passing year grows old.
I wrap my scarf around my face,
And walk a very hurried pace.
A beautiful, transition phase,
Before the bitter winter days.
Hanna writes poignant, deeply reflective poetry about the rapid passage of time and the fragility of human memory. She uses the imagery of changing seasons and fading photographs to explore how we hold onto the...
I cannot picture how you smiled,When I was just a little child.The details blur around the edge,A broken,...
The silver prints are turning gray,The faces slowly fade away.A summer day, a beach, a smile,Captured for a...