Poems from SkyDancer
Freshly turned soil
Pebbles cold, wet from the lake
Late lunch in the sun
Pangs of grief
When in College
I’ll miss the hay bales
Yellowed paper
Broken corners and ripped cover
I’m glad it’s only a book
One small grey Thursday
Fog drifts up from the valley
At least the birds are gay
Tangerine
Sweet Acid
Burns my throat