I write poems of loss and loneliness, of dull days with no ambition to move, knowing that I must.
the wind toss of golden leaves
sticks on wet ground
There are times the pain fades and I rise to the occasion with a smile or a laugh and suppress a tinge of guilt. There are times I want to run away, someplace, anyplace.
puddles and pools
fill the low ground—
Today I walk the woods, following familiar trails.
pressed between pages