She's window waiting, wondering when the ground's ready for the plow and seeds
A place to gather words before they get lost.
She's window waiting, wondering when the ground's ready for the plow and seeds
Is it boiling yet? She asks, with fret, her voice set in mad frustration
By light of the moon, we wander the woods, careful to watch our footing
Pocket hole, ellipse; the lost hour slips away a broken-seam day
for Algot (sort of)
Linger for a moment, for Every time we whisper, She reminds me to remember a Life built together, woven in love; I am forever wrapped in wonder - Echoes of our early days, a song sung softly in tune
An Acrostic Poem (LESLIE) for #ds106 and International Women's Day
Curled up like a Q, the Fiddlehead in the marsh calls to Spring anew
It's in the crawl space between soft whisper and shout; Nirvana rocks out
The cacophony of song still rings in our ears; the geese in Autumn
Surrounded and bound by seeds, the catkin cluster's waiting on the wind
Luminescent light from a new moon, skims the night with a slight wonder