By Vikram Kolmannskog
When I was little, my father always used to whistle a melody. About the morning that has broken like the first morning. About the bird that has spoken like the first bird.
About the Author
Publish Date December 29, 2009
Dimensions Small Square 32 pgs
Category Religion & Spirituality
Tags photography, art, father, god, love, death, loss, gay, flute, morning, bird, tree, lover, boyfriend
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