In the quiet glow of amber, where stories unfold,
Garamond whispers, both modern and bold.
Its curves are a rhythm, each letter a step,
A path through the pages where my characters wept.
I write of the weary, the broken, the lost,
Of working hands, and the price of the cost.
The hum of the mother, the dust on the street,
The scent of old coffee, the shuffle of…
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Adventures with A.B. Parr to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.