apples
sitting on the white fence
red and brown
ripe and rotten
stems from seeds
of planted men
set in rows
the good school boy
Uncle Tomahawk
driving the Winnebago toward
Crazy Horse mountain
a longer road than our word
for American pie
41 letters long
one little two little three…
I am so glad that I clicked on this poem. I not only love the way you write but I am impressed with your bio page. You are a very talented person. I shall read more of your work.
Much peace, love, and light,
Amber "V"
Each person is but a grain of sand resting beside the sea. This thought sets the tone for Jill Eisnaugle’s latest poetry collection, Beside Still Waters.
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Be always safe,
Karen
Much peace, love, and light,
Amber "V"