Sunlight, slight breeze
Green leaves
Evergreen green leaves
Inside
A carpet to lay on
A wall, a door, a window
A book of silence
In transit
My body mass index
My reflexologist massaged feet
My, still-aching, frozen shoulder
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Most days I would try to write a poem; it is a practice, as I suppose is meditation, or smiling, or watching the world go by
Available at Amazon |
Available at Amazon |
Available at Amazon |
Available at Amazon |