Thoughts over morning coffee...
Looking out of my window
I see houses I have named
There is the Winking Whistler
There the Stalwart Pig
I wonder what my neighbors
are calling me this morning?
Do they know our homes
have personalities?
Soon after moving in to my home, overlooking a sloping meadow, I notices the homes seemed to have interesting shapes, some of which I recognized.
Thoughts over morning coffee...
StandingBear commented on Thoughts over morning coffee...
11-06-2009
11/06/2009
anaisnais commented on Thoughts over morning coffee...
11-03-2009
11/03/2009
Hampton commented on Thoughts over morning coffee...
10-30-2009
10/30/2009
Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.
Unknown Source
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