Rain fell for days, stopped.
This is goodbye,
bare trees like matchsticks
waiting for a flame.
Soon, you’ll burst into
new green, fuzzed like the babies
in your nested branches.
Together may you open, bloom,
take to the air.
Rain fell for days, stopped.
This is goodbye,
bare trees like matchsticks
waiting for a flame.
Soon, you’ll burst into
new green, fuzzed like the babies
in your nested branches.
Together may you open, bloom,
take to the air.
custom poems on vintage typewriters
One Poet's Writing Practice
Photographer of Life in North TX & points beyond
Prompting new poems for Red Wolf Journal
A Poetry Practice
Living in the moment
where observation and imagination meet nature in poetry
