Trudging home in the snow
Each crunch under foot
Telling the tale of our heartbreak
Trudging home in the snow
Each crunch under foot
Telling the tale of our heartbreak
hear my ancient call
from mists beyond the hermit’s cell
see the rising dawn
we who gaze with bated breath
journeying from one to all
Spontaneous poem is like Brushstroke journey One moment following into the next black ink on white paper shape out of the formless punctuation for the sheer hell of it … Even a pause is continuation of the flowering … Even silence speaks…. … And then off we go again Sometimes soaring into rarified alpine airsContinue reading “A spontaneously composed poem is…”