Farm Poem 17
The wind that starts from nowhere, The same that bends [...]
The wind that starts from nowhere, The same that bends [...]
E. E. Cummings Pronounced spring Mud-luscious, Puddle-wonderful, And reading this [...]
The master craftsman shot his Netflix sizzle reel In my [...]
Spring brings more than can be— Blossoms melting into soil, [...]
Soft, the snow of blossoms Petaling the walkway, The wake [...]
“See,” I say excitedly, Observing it myself For the first [...]
Ovid tells the story of Cyparissus, A boy who carelessly [...]
We notice the obvious, Ostentatious: the seam in the beam [...]
Not far from the farm is a monastery of Cistercians [...]
Spring is never as we remember it: Too soon, too [...]