Rare january bird
in a bare tree.
In a place
I can make it stand.
I’d rather read
an account of our love.
Of plum petals
falling in the wind.
Than see my
useless corpse,
scattered over
withered fields.
And never know
that sweet kiss.
Journey to love
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 