Mar 15, 2021
poem
The sorrow of Spring,
and the death it brings —
the calculating crush of uncertainty,
the chill in the wind
no golden ray can heat,
the tenuous mirage of brighter days,
the barometric pressure change.
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A few good stories, a thousand different versions. My dreams are written in form. Author of Mother Scorpion. http://rbbaxter.com
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A few good stories, a thousand different versions. My dreams are written in form. Author of Mother Scorpion. http://rbbaxter.com
