A dark day in the city.
Spring air and
winter moon, hidden.
I looked for the soul,
of a nightingale.
And the peaches,
of an island paradise.
But the wind cut my flesh.
Torn from a summer of love.
I walked on, doomed by name.
A cold January
A Wandering Poet
As I walk around I like to record what I experience. Through poetry, ideas and thoughts I hope I can share some of these experiences with you.
A Wandering Poet 