Add to ORKGWhen the last of the wood has been gathered in, And the stove shows rust where polish has been, The tightness of the door and windows begins To give me the feeling of being shut in..
THE DIM evening light, fighting its way through the dusty pane, is almost lost in the drab, boxlike ...
not even eternities are made to last when you\u27re nineteen and the first moist-grass day of spring...
As scent of freezia in the winter gloom Recalls the look of flowers long since dead, Bruised hearts ...
The dry day dies as many have before, In the steel-gray death of a bloodless sun; Mortician night sh...
Unclad, the bony fingers on the lawn Reach skyward, clutching at the cold gray blast That stripes th...
FEBRUARY had been a damp, chill month with none of the violence of winter. Snow, which seemed to mel...
The warm, dry air pushed itself up through the metal curlicues of the register..
In the first year of peace, the springtime sun Shone long on a wintry scene, but naturally No one co...
I pause and watch the mallards spear The air in long, ragged V-lines, Ragged like the stalk-littered...
Muffled yardlight eye reaches for the foggy earth Headlights pan Tires scratch into furrows Weeds br...
April, Its spent blossoms Blown in drifts on the lawn, Lifts its many promised fingers To May..
A SINGLE, dead cornstalk, bent and frozen in the February wind, was the only thing that broke the sh...
THE night air, heavy now that dew covered the grass, pressed into the house without moving the curta...
I SHIVERED underneath by heavy coat and forced my mittened hands more firmly into my pockets. The wi...
Sad, still Spetember\u27s sheaf Of scarlet sumac, now, Coldly sheared by snow\u27s silver sword Is s...
THE DIM evening light, fighting its way through the dusty pane, is almost lost in the drab, boxlike ...
not even eternities are made to last when you\u27re nineteen and the first moist-grass day of spring...
As scent of freezia in the winter gloom Recalls the look of flowers long since dead, Bruised hearts ...
The dry day dies as many have before, In the steel-gray death of a bloodless sun; Mortician night sh...
Unclad, the bony fingers on the lawn Reach skyward, clutching at the cold gray blast That stripes th...
FEBRUARY had been a damp, chill month with none of the violence of winter. Snow, which seemed to mel...
The warm, dry air pushed itself up through the metal curlicues of the register..
In the first year of peace, the springtime sun Shone long on a wintry scene, but naturally No one co...
I pause and watch the mallards spear The air in long, ragged V-lines, Ragged like the stalk-littered...
Muffled yardlight eye reaches for the foggy earth Headlights pan Tires scratch into furrows Weeds br...
April, Its spent blossoms Blown in drifts on the lawn, Lifts its many promised fingers To May..
A SINGLE, dead cornstalk, bent and frozen in the February wind, was the only thing that broke the sh...
THE night air, heavy now that dew covered the grass, pressed into the house without moving the curta...
I SHIVERED underneath by heavy coat and forced my mittened hands more firmly into my pockets. The wi...
Sad, still Spetember\u27s sheaf Of scarlet sumac, now, Coldly sheared by snow\u27s silver sword Is s...
THE DIM evening light, fighting its way through the dusty pane, is almost lost in the drab, boxlike ...
not even eternities are made to last when you\u27re nineteen and the first moist-grass day of spring...
As scent of freezia in the winter gloom Recalls the look of flowers long since dead, Bruised hearts ...