Love melts the rigor which the rocks have bred; a flint will break upon a feather bed. John Cleveland bedbreakbreed Change image and share on social
I am no Poet here; my pen's the spout where the rain water of my eyes run out. John Cleveland eyepenpoet Change image and share on social
My tears will keep no channel, know no laws to guide their streams, but like the waves, their cause, run with disturbance till they swallow me as a description of his misery. John Cleveland channeldescriptiondisturbance Change image and share on social
Had Cain been Scot, God would have changed his doom nor forced him wander, but confine him home. John Cleveland cainchangeconfine Change image and share on social
