Pocked by nimble hooves
five o’clock stubble clings,
stubborn in wind-chilled sun.
One six-pack of scrub jays
scatters the silence
tepid spring forces its way
upon the barren brow
defined by seasoned gray.
sketch by Turner
Fractals Photos Poetry Prose Watercolor
Thursday, March 22, 2007
What Janus Sees
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3 comments:
I love this one! I want it above my sink where I hang my pots. Can you do that?
Thank you! Sure, that's a doable project!
Dear Tumblewords,
I enjoy reading your poems so very much. I come often and read them over and over again. Each time I have a different experience. Today I hear the call of the Scrub Jays.
Thank you.
Sherry
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