Inscribed … In red granite A clearer thought, as… Anything—Scandinavian, Or any other rests, upon a grey lawn. Anon, it circles a silent grave! Where once stood a blue forest
A poem holds your hand It whispers come gather These windblown, fruits Eat of this suns lather. The bee’s stamens sting, Is like a gloved fist. And, like the poets pen!
“Up-wellsprings poetry from the coldest; deserts hearts”. Where; blooms the most exotic flowers of all… “They’re dunes, they’re zephyrs, and they’re petals caul,
