When I first started writing this piece, it turned into a poem. I circled around, wondering if I was finished with it. Now it seems to have returned...
The thunder mutters louder and more loud With quicker motion hay folks ply the rake Ready to burst slow sails the pitch black cloud And all the gang...
The clue's in the name, but I didn't expect the hill. It may have been a result of planning the route on the plane of my ancient A to Z 's pages, and...