It is pleasant, indeed
when winter ends
and spring cries open.
But I am still desolate
and sick for you.
Softly singing each morning,
of your love and beauty –
yellow as a young flame.
Song for a Sunday
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 