The poetry is gone inside her head. Words,gone wayside, bounced and fled, landed in dreams he turned to red. Righted and wronged, plucked from her palm, the music is spinning off an old broken song.
08/21/2012
Posted on 08/22/2012Copyright © 2026 Clara Mae Gregory
... excellent.....
beautiful! it just rolls off the page!
Poetry is usually the first to go...
