Two little sparrows saying hellos,
sit on the gate that I just closed.
Not long from the egg; not long for the world;
with tenderness my song unfurls.
Little green-bottles, knitting the air,
landing back an inch from there;
the intentional, the devil-may-care,
laughing with lives that pass without tear.
Gleam in the clouds cracks a windy grey,
disinters Summer, and she blinks to say,
'Will you sing Hey! to me today?
I'm back in your song but I'm sliding away.'
The apples are rosy; the wind blows warm:
don't dream of days that bend with a storm;
don't muse of tomorrows; or of mornings that spawn
from the cold salmon of a winter dawn.
..
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Keep The Home Fires Burning
PoetryA poetry Collection. Now Lunk has taken to his bed, swearing not to write one more word about C, and muttering 'bloody garden', it behoves (Love that word, don't you?) me (and Anima) to fill out his shoes, with soil and flower seed. So we will be 'e...
