17
I’ve made my songs from shambles,
I’ve carded wool from what caught
and filled the larder with fallen crumb—
This too, I’ve told myself, a kind of eternity.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
17
I’ve made my songs from shambles,
I’ve carded wool from what caught
and filled the larder with fallen crumb—
This too, I’ve told myself, a kind of eternity.