If he was wood, he was a flail, and I was grain on the threshing floor.
I was a thousand grains, my thoughts blown like chaff. All that was left was the taste of salt.

Author: Sarah Micklem

If he was wood, he was a flail, and I was grain on the threshing floor.<br />I was a thousand grains, my thoughts blown like chaff. All that was left was the taste of salt. - Sarah Micklem



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