And for those
who love the
whispering nights.
Your absence
no longer goes
through me.
The black clay
of certainty,
goes on.
Yet, everything
I write is stitched
with colour.
And moonbeams
dance inside
the paper door.
Daughters of winter
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 