Walking to the lake
No moon, I wear a head-lamp
Under the pine trees
Bright glowing blue dots
Reflect from the pine needles
Spider eyes, thousands
Clear blue sky, trumpets
Each morning the cranes descend
In noisy spirals
Like flying monkeys
An Oz-like cacophony
Jazz fusion gone wild
Shop Information
Robert Hamlin Bicycles is not open.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment