Having seen much through countless expression,
I know my way around, though, βWhere to?β Is the question.
Drifting from place to place, creating worlds within worlds too,
I am a storyteller of sorts, with many stories to tell you.
I humΒ and I strum, whittle and whistle,
Iβve laboured in the coldest cold and picked many a thistle.
Forgotten and remembered, I endure through refining,
For I seek the golden threads within the silver lining.
A sincere yet wind-bound path, duty-bound to inspire,
For melodies change tides and words rekindle fire.
You may hear from time to time, from where I tend to dwell,
My name is Sayer Teller, and I have a few stories to tell.
π±π₯π’ ππ’π« π¦π° π±π₯π’ π΄ππ«π‘ π¬π£ π΄π¬π―π©π‘π°…
There are books on the horizon. “The Washcloth”, Book I of The Confounding Oddities of Lachesis Grim, a Victorian-era dark fantasy series, is well on its way.
Perhaps you may stumble upon something that you will like. In either case, stay awhile and peruse The Aught of the Oaken Reed at your leisure.
Welcome,
