The wind is cold,
the rain is cold,
and the flowers
relive the parting pain.
I’ll hold fast and toil
in the fine dust.
Until spring passes,
and green mountains
rise under my eyes.
Plum petal dance
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 