The warmth of
the winter sun.
Gave me no sign.
That one day it will die.
The end of everything
in a flaming finger.
So, until then I will take
the thread of love.
And smile quietly
as I turn and go.
Crossing the fields
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 