Archives: Poem Gallery

at dusk
and how the leaf falls sound
I no longer see

a summer breeze
leaving me to potter
about the herb garden

nothing else, all is drought
just the tumble-weeds
piled at the fence

summer kisses
the rain and I turn
to face each other

aging…
the last pie apples
our tree will bear

sun across our path
Laurel sits brightly
in front of the canoe

ice-cube jugs
sweating our night out
in the patio heat