The tree by the wishing well
Hunkers like an old man
Fishing corroded coins
With great gnarled fingers
Some days he shivers
Through the not-so-gentle balding
As autumn plucks his hair
And I wish to
Wrap him in a blanket
And his hands round a mug of tea.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Fatherhood
I am carrying the torch you Handed me Not handed. Placed Carefully This is sacred space. Was the carrying so heavy for you as well? Were yo...
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It must have been love That sort of thing Can't be mistaken For a lesser set of feelings It has a special hat And makes you welcome at p...
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She shares the blame For Adam's fall So secure, attractive Brilliant in a certain view The essence of Enlightenment I see her raise her ...
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I’m tired I’m tired of my heart giving out Whenever it gives in That things being the same Never makes a difference Of looking forwards to s...
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