|
|
|
|||
|
[contents]
[print]
The mind’s clear, still pool. Fascinated by ripples I keep throwing stones! There was happiness In the photograph we took. Was it then, or now? Above misty fields Pheasant glide in innocence. Born to live, to die! The chair collapses; Nothing but a pile of wood. Sudden change of mood. Moving calm and slow. Three chattering wrens almost Took me for a tree! Path of virgin snow. No-one steps here before, Nor ever after! [contents] [top] [print] |
|