Sunday’s Poem
there’s a poem blown in from the west
snagged on the clothesline, nestled in the fleece
I saw it, on its back, legs wide, surrendered
I left it there
it looked so comfortable
so happy
so contained

EDITOR | WRITER | TEACHER
Sunday’s Poem
there’s a poem blown in from the west
snagged on the clothesline, nestled in the fleece
I saw it, on its back, legs wide, surrendered
I left it there
it looked so comfortable
so happy
so contained
