His heart ran out of autumns, he lived his last day, Octobers are now melancholy, in a very special way. Seasons bring back memories, especially the seasons he did love, the arrival of the killing frost, memories of harvest time now just above. Sometimes I wonder, and ask myself why, life eventually becomes memories, as […]
Category: Poetry
Posted inIn Print
Poem: Vunerable
Posted inPoetry
Poetry: Grandfather’s Toolbox
Posted inPoetry
Poetry: Cairns at preschool
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Poem: The Back Roads
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Poem: The Old Way
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The Same Color
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The Tuft of Flowers
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