Evening glory.
Illness lingers on.
I lean against the day.
The sky has almost ended.
But I have not grown
weary of this world.
I will meet the
spring this year,
and move on.
Winter sickness
Evening glory.
Illness lingers on.
I lean against the day.
The sky has almost ended.
But I have not grown
weary of this world.
I will meet the
spring this year,
and move on.
A Wandering Poet 