Bric-à-Brac Babel
Beneath a tattered coat, it haunts the street, A mongrel tongue with mischief in its eyes. It lifts what other languages repeat, Then cobbles words and swears it’s neat…
sonnetA collection of 2 posts
On A Winter Mourning
Beneath the willow's frozen, brittle shade, I mourn the garden buried deep in frost. The tender shoots that once began to fade, Now sleep beneath the ice, forever…