A poem reminiscing about cold childhood mornings and the warmth of the wood stove.
A poem written with a syllable pattern of 5-7-5-7-7...for all the pagan souls who have lost the voice to sing.
Freedom isn't something we're given. It's something we have to fight for - not once or twice, not just when it's convenient or when it affects us personally - but all the time. Freedom is something that, if you grow complacent, can slip away from you before you know it.
A poem about two lovers.
I feel connected to the changing seasons where I live. The turn of the year is an recurrent experience of which I never tire...