Thursday, April 23, 2020

What rushes by



seems to go faster when skies are grayed and grass appears lusher.  And trees are locks of hair
hanging low.  Isn't "hanging low" an amazing phrase?   Apt for our time.  What's for lunch?  What's the title of the next poem?
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1 comment:

  1. Susan E. GangelApril 25, 2020 at 1:04 PM

    this morning walking
    every step a chance
    to change my mind


    'variations' sf, ca april 2020

    ReplyDelete

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